THE 


REMINISCENCES 


OF 


AN  IDLER 


BY 


HENRY   WIKOFF 


AUTHOR    OF     "MY    COURTSHIP    AND     ITS    CONSEQUENCES,"      "ADVENTURES    OF    A 
ROVING   DIPLOMATIST,"    ETC.,    ETC. 


NEW    YORK 
FORDS,    HOWARD    &    HULBERT 

1880 


Copyright,  1880,  by  HENRY  WIKOFF. 


A  PRELIMINARY  WORD. 


I  HAVE  often  been  urged  to  write  a  book  of  Reminiscences 
by  friends  who  knew  that,  during  my  career,  I  had  come  in 
contact  with  many  persons  of  various  kinds  of  celebrity.  At 
times  I  was  tempted  to  undertake  it,  but  the  difficulties  of  the 
task  filled  me  with  distrust  and  invariably  forced  me  to  aban 
don  it.  The  dread  of  giving  offence  to  persons  living,  or  of 
wounding  the  susceptibilities  of  the  descendants  of  those  dead, 
were  obstacles  that  appeared  insuperable.  It  seemed  to  me, 
also,  well-nigh  impossible  to  make  a  mere  series  of  personal 
sketches  interesting  to  the  general  reader. 

At  length  it  occurred  to  me  that  I  might  manage  to  blend 
an  outline  of  the  public  events  of  the  past  forty  years  and  up 
wards  with  random  portraits  of  prominent  individuals  on  both 
sides  of  the  Atlantic  in  such  a  manner  as  to  interest  the  pub 
lic  and  thus  secure  an  appreciation  for  my  volume  that  purely 
personal  recollections  would  fail  to  command. 

With  this  double  aim  I  have  written  the  present  work,  and 
I  bespeak  for  it  the  indulgent  consideration  of  my  readers,  as 
it  was  composed  amid  the  interruptions  of  a  busy  social  life, 
and  often  at  considerable  intervals  of  time.  Without  longer 
preface  I  commit  my  book,  with  "  all  its  imperfections  on  its 
head,"  to  its  uncertain  fate  ,  and  we  have  ancient  authority 
that  books,  like  men,  have  their  special  destinies  : 

"  Habent  sua  fata  libelli." 

After  due  reflection  I  determined  to  throw  my  souvenirs 
into  an  autobiographical  form,  as  affording  greater  freedom 
both  as  regards  subject  and  style. 

THE  AUTHOR. 

NEW  YORK,  April,  1880. 

M145849 


CONTENTS  OF  VOL.  I. 


CHAPTER  I. 
THE  ACADEMY; 

FAG* 

Philadelphia  fifty  years  ago — First  love — A  complex  character    .         .       I 

CHAPTER  II. 

THE  UNIVERSITY. 

College  pranks — A  misfortune — New  scene  of  action          .         .         .     13 

CHAPTER  III. 
A  PROFESSION. 

A  reform — Political  manoeuvring — Scene  at  the  White  House — Visit 
to  '  Nellie  Custis,'  &c.        .          .         .         .         .  .         .23 

CHAPTER  IV. 
PHILADELPHIA. 

A   novelty — A   grim    spectre — Fanny    Kemble — A    desperate    politi 
cian,  &c.  .  34 

CHAPTERS. 
A  TRIP  TO  THE  SOUTH. 

A   pleasant   party — A  murder — Lost    in   the   woods — Defying    cho 
lera,  &c.  41 

CHAPTER  VI. 

SARATOGA. 
Roberts  Vaux — Lord  Powerscourt — Mrs    Coster — A  'Magician*         .     55 


vi  Contents. 


CHAPTER  VIT. 

JACKSON'S  LAST  VICTORY. 

FAGB 

A  perfect  tornado — Fearful  results — A  luckless  victim— Strange  retri 
bution     .         .         .         ,         .         .  -       .         •         »         .         .62 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

ADMISSION  TO  THE  BAR. 

Tyrone  Power — A  ghost  story — Edwin  Forrest — A  trip  West    .         .     69 

CHAPTER  IX. 
PARIS. 

A  fast   voyage — First  impressions — A  strange  people,   with   strange 
ways — Astonished  and  often  perplexed        .         .         .         .         •     79 

CHAPTER  X. 

PARIS  (continued). 

The    Palais    Royal — A  happy    man — Gambling — The    American 

Colony,  &c. 93 

CHAPTER  XI. 

PARIS  (continued). 

The  U.S.  Minister — Presentation  at  Court — Effect  on  the  American 

mind    .         ,         .         .         .          .         .          .         .         .         .      loo 

CHAPTER  XII. 

PARIS  (continued). 
The  Grand  Opera — Theatres — Great  artistes — Masked  balls  .         ,     108 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
PARIS  (continued). 

Ball  at   the  Tuileries — Talleyrand — Marshals    Soult  and  Lobau — 

Mrs.  Wadsworth — Sir  Sydney  Smith — Thiers — Guizot,  &c.         .      I2o 

CHAPTER  XIV. 

PARIS  (continued). 

Visit  to  Forrest — Attempt  at  assassination — Thiers  and  Guizot  in  the 

tribune — Political  machinery  .          .          .         .          .  133 


Contents.  vii 


CHAPTER  XV. 
PARIS  (concluded). 

MOB 

The  streets  —  Shops —  Servants  —  Cheapness — Churches — Bonnes 

(Ten/ans — A  concierge — Coiffures,  &c.       .         .         .         .         .138 

CHAPTER  XVI. 

ITALY. 
Turin — Genoa — Pisa — Rome        .         .         .        .        •         •        .152 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

ITALY  (continued). 

Naples — Pompeii — Vesuvius — Florence — Venice — Milan         .         •     165 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 

PARIS  REVISITED. 

The  Boulevards  in  May — Versailles  and  its  history          .         .         .178 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
LONDON. 

Journey  to  the  metropolis — First  impressions — The  Italian  Opera — 

The  Derby-day — A  rebuff,  &c. 181 

CHAPTER  XX. 
HAMBURG. 

The  opera  on  post-nights — Imprisoned  sirens — Dancing-houses — A 

country /#*   ....  .  .         .      199 

CHAPTER  XXI. 
ST.  PETERSBURG. 

The  Baltic — The   U.S.    Minister — Palaces  —  Churches  —  The  Ro 
manoffs          •         •         .  ....     203 

CHAPTER  XXII. 
MOSCOW. 

The   Kremlin — A  ftte — The  foundling  hospital — A  grumbler — The 

Monastery  Simonofskoi,  &c.     .          .          .          .          .         .          .214 


viii  Contents. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

ODESSA  AND  THE  CRIMEA. 

PAGB 

An  unexpected  visit — Bad  news — Prince  Woronzow — A  flirtation — 

Sebastopol — Political  chat       .          .          .          .          .          .          .231 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
ODESSA  (continued}. 

A  dinner  with  the  Prince  Woronzow — The  Russian  army — A  morn 
ing  visit — Banquet  to  the  British  Ambassador — Forrest  himself 
again  .  . 253 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
CONSTANTI NOPLE. 

A  midnight  reverie — The  plague — Harem  beauties  at  the  Bazaar — 

Visit  to  Commodore  Porter — Dialogue  with  a  missionary  »         .     264 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
CONSTANTINOPLE  (continued). 

The  Padishah — An  American  ship-builder — A  diamond  show — The 

Seraglio  and  St.  Sophia  . 283 

CHAPTER  XXVII. 
SMYRNA. 

The    Hellespont — A  philosophic    Turk — A  comical    incident — An 

earthly  paradise — A  sad  disappointment  .....     293 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
ATHENS. 

Classical  reminiscences — Bright  anticipations — Mournful  realities — 

An  American  regenerator — An  unforeseen  obstacle    .         .         .301 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 

GERMANY. 
Trieste  and  Vienna     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .316 


Contents.  ix 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
GERMANY  (continued}. 

PAGE 

Prague — Dresden — Berlin — Frankfort  .          .          .          .          .323 

CHAPTER  XXXI. 
PARIS  REVISITED. 

Striking  improvements — An  'infernal  machine' — Its  authors  arraigned 

— A  thrilling  execution .  -    .          .  .         .  330 

CHAPTER  XXXII. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

Arrival   of  Mr.  Wilkins — A  dinner   miscarried — Colonel  Thorn   and 

a  man  from  Tennessee — A  conversation  with  the  King        .          •     337 

CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

A  fatal  duel — A  sorceress — Dr.  Mott — Another  attempt  on  the  King     348 

CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

LONDON  REVISITED. 

Appointed  attacht — William  IV. — St.  James's  Palace      .         .         .     355 

CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

Political  structure — Social  organisation — Orders  of  chivalry     .          .     360 

CHAPTER  XXXVI. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

Almack's — Mr.  Joshua    Bates — Baring     Brothers — Marchioness   of 

Wellesley — The  poet  Rogers,  &c 364 

CHAPTER  XXXVII. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued}. 

Forrest  at  Drury  Lane — The  London  press   .          .          .          .          .     376 

b 


Contents. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

PAGE 

Ex-King   Joseph    Bonaparte — Conversation  with   Mr.   Mansfield — 

England  and  the  United  States  discussed          .         .         .         .382 

CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

AN  EXCURSION  TO  PARIS. 

The  new  American  Minister — A  succession  of  startling  events — A 

responsible  undertaking  ,          .         ..         .         .         .         .392 

CHAPTER  XL. 
LONDON  REVISITED. 

The  Belgian  Ambassador — Advent  of  'Jim  Crow' — Andrew  Jackson 

Allen — Holland  House — A  ball  at  Court — A  wedding        .          .398 

CHAPTER  XLI. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

Disraeli's   'maiden    speech' — Gladstone's   Toryism — Prince    Ester- 

hazy's  ball — Lady  Powerscourt        .          .          .          .          .          .412 

CHAPTER  XLII. 

HOLLAND  AND  BELGIUM. 

Amsterdam — The  Hague — Antwerp — Brussels       .         .         .         .419 

CHAPTER  XLIII. 

• 

LONDON  REVISITED. 
A  rencontre  with  celebrities — Visit  to  Gore  House — Count  D'Orsay      425 

CHAPTER  XLIV. 

LONDON  REVISITED  (continued}. 

Lawn  Villa — An  ancient  corporation — A  memorable  dinner     .          •     437 

CHAPTER  XLV. 
RETURN  TO  PHILADELPHIA. 

J    S.  Buckingham — Contrasts  and  comparisons — Forrest's  reception 

at  home          ........  .      444 


Contents.  xi 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 
RETURN  TO  PHILADELPHIA  (continued). 

MM 

M.  B.  Sampson — Under  lock  and  key — Phrenology  explored  .          .455 

CHAPTER  XLVII. 

RETURN  TO  PHILADELPHIA  (continued]. 
Fashionable  society — The  New  York  Herald — James  Gordon  Bennett     462 

CHAPTER  XLVIII. 
A  TRIP  TO  WASHINGTON. 

A  tragic  duel — A  chat  with  President  Van  Buren — A  conflict  in  the 

Senate — Steam  on  the  Atlantic — An  unexpected  introduction      .     467 

CHAPTER  XLIX. 

PARIS  REVISITED. 

Death,  of  Talleyrand — Railway  excitement — A  conversation  with  the 

Countess  Guiccioli  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .476 

CHAPTER  L. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

Mr.  J.  G.  Bennett's   arrival — Dinner  at   Suresnes — The  American    . 
belles — A  theatrical  sensation — An  insurrection          .          .          .      486 

CHAPTER  LI. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

A  visit  from  Mr.  Price — The  Marquis  de  Lavalette — A  renowned 

artist — A  strange  infatuation — Taglioni  and  Fanny  Elssler          .     496 

CHAPTER  LII. 
ST.  LEONARDS-ON-SEA. 

The    Dunlop  family — A  historic  battle-ground — Lady  Blessington's 

opinions  of  Bulwer  and  Disraeli — A  rare  beauty — Count  D'Orsay     509 

CHAPTER  LIII. 
PARIS  REVISITED. 

The  contract  signed — An  unforeseen  responsibility — Mrs.    General 

Scott — The  daguerreotype  invented  .          ;         .          .          .514 


xii  Contents. 


CHAPTER  LTV. 
.  PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

PAGE 

A  dinner- party — Lady  Lytton  Bulwer — Caught  in  a  trap  — Strange 

disclosures — French  lawyers — A  cause  celebre    .          .          .  519 

CHAPTER  LV. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

A  strong  appeal — Mrs.  Grote — Letter  from  Mr.  Price — A  shoal  of 

introductions — '  A  first-rater' — An  extraordinary  freak         .          .     536 

CHAPTER  LVI. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

Sad  news — A  dinner   in  the   Place   St.  George — Piquant   letters — 

Overthrow  of  Marshal  Soult     .  .          .          .          .          .      550 

CHAPTER  LVII. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

Mrs.  Crete's  vaticinations— Self-communing — A  stroke  of  destiny — 

A.  ludicrous  situation — Lady  Lytton  Bulwer       .          .          .          .561 

CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 
LONDON  REVISITED. 

Dinner  at  Mrs.  Grote' s — Charles  Sumner — A  grande  dame — A  soirte 
at    Lord     Brougham's — Simpson's    ambassador — Prince     Louis    • 
Napoleon — A  thunder- clap — The  departure       .          .          .          •     571 


REMINISCENCES. 


CHAPTER  I. 

THE  ACADEMY. 

PHJL.4I>F.LPHIA.  FIFTY  YEARS  AGO— FIRST  LOVE — A  COMPLEX  CHARACTER. 

I  r  will  give  me  ampler  scope,  as  I  have  intimated  in  the  Preface, 
to  adopt  the  autobiographical  style,  and  I  am  bound,  therefore, 
by  usage  to  say  a  word  or  two  of  my  early  years.  I  will  not 
attempt  to  beguile  my  reader  with  any  delusive  story  of  my 
youthful  vicissitudes,  though  I  had  some,  but  will  hasten  over 
this  prelude.as  briefly  and  modestly  as  the  occasion  admits. 

At  the  outset,  however,  a  formidable  difficulty  confronts  me. 
How  am  I  to  avoid  giving  the  date  of  my  birth,  that  I  have 
always  allowed  to  repose  in  mystery  ?  I  was  never  proud  as  a 
boy  of  appearing  older  than  I  was  ,*  and  now  that  years  have 
accumulated,  I  am  not  indisposed  to  seem  younger  than  I  am. 
I  have  an  invincible  repugnance  to  lapse  into  the  category  of  old 
men ;  and  it  is  no  wonder,  as  I  am  still  a  bachelor,  and  am  assured 
on  all  sides  that  time  has  dealt  leniently  with  me.  No  one  guesses 
within  ten  years  of  my  age ;  and  why  should  I  treat  myself  more 
harshly  than  the  judge  does  the  criminal  in  the  dock,  when  he 
warns  him  not  to  incriminate  himself?  Suffice  it  that  circum 
stantial  evidence  will  prove  enough. 

After  wading  through  the  mysteries  of  reading,  writing,  and 
arithmetic  at  the  grammar-schools  of  my  native  town  of  Phila 
delphia,  it  was  decided  that  I  should  be  despatched  to  Prince 
ton,  New  Jersey,  to  begin  my  studies  for  college.  At  that  time  a 
famous  academy,  under  the  direction  of  the  Rev.  Robert  Baird, 
was  adding  to  the  classical  prestige  of  Princeton,  which  had  long 
boasted  of  its  Nassau  Hall,  the  venerated  Alma  Mater  of  many 
of  the  first  men  in  the  country. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  July  1823  (a  rash  confession),  that 
I  leaped  joyously  into  my  father's  carriage,  to  accompany  him  to 

B 


The  Academy. 


my , destination.  .We;  set  out  at  7  A.  M.,  with  Levin,  the  black 
groom,  mounted  on  York,  a  splendid  sorrel,  bringing  up  the 
rear.  We  dined  at  Bristol,  and,  to  avoid  the  heat,  lingered  there 
till  late  in  the  afternoon,  when  we  drove  on  to  Trenton,  where 
we  passed  the  night.  The  next  morning,  before  ten  o'clock,  we 
entered  Princeton,  then  a  lovely  hamlet  of  some  few  hundred 
inhabitants,  and  consisting  of  one  main  street,  lined  with  pretty 
houses,  mostly  in  wood  painted  white  with  green  shutters. 

I  was  still  in  bounding  spirits  at  the  novelty  in  store  for  me, 
and  devoured  greedily  every  object  my  eyes  lit  upon.  I  had  a 
momentary  chill  when,  after  breakfast,  I  was  reminded  that  the 
business  of  the  day  was  my  presentation  to  my  new  preceptor  ; 
and  it  was  with  no  great  alacrity  I  stajted  out  to  undergo  this 
ordeal.  Young  as  I  was,  I  had  even  then  an  innate  dislike  of 
anything  in  the  shape  of  work — formal  regular  work.  I  have 
done  some  in  my  time,  but  it  was  always  spasmodical  and  with 
out  premeditation.  My  mind  at  that  day,  and  I  fear  ever  since, 
was  bent  on  amusement,  and  anything  that  interfered  with  it 
was  a  task  and  a  bore.  This  is  not  a  creditable  avowal,  but  I  was 
so  constituted.  I  have  struggled  often  in  late  years  to  overcome 
my  frivolity  of  disposition,  but  have  not  succeeded  brilliantly. 
If  phrenology  had  existed  at  that  time,  it  would  have  been  pre 
dicted  that  I  would  never  accomplish  much,  either  good  or  bad  ; 
but  happily  Mr.  Baird  augured  more  favourably. 

This  gentleman  was  the  founder  of  the  academy  where  I  was 
destined  shortly  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  sundry  Greek  and 
Latin  authors,  who  have  been  no  more  advantage  to  me  than 
many  others  I  made  afterwards.  He  was  an  A.M.  of  Nassau 
Hall,  where  he  officiated  for  some  time  as  tutor.  In  later  years 
he  became  very  conspicuous  for  his  books  of  travels,  and  con 
nection  with  all  sorts  of  Evangelical  societies.  In  July  1823  he 
did  not  foresee  his  future  renown,  and  was  content  to  play  the 
pedagogue  over  some  forty  lads  of  all  sizes  and  complexions. 
He  was  rather  a  tall  man,  with  a  stoop,  gentle  manners,  and  a 
sleek  well-shaven  face,  in  which  I  discerned  no  indications  of 
severity.  Our  first  interview  was  short.  Preliminaries  were  soon 
settled,  and  my  father  desired  I  should  be  kept  close  to  my 
studies.  Mr.  Baird  patted  my  head,  and  predicted  I  should 
turn  out  a  good  scholar.  I  had  my  misgivings  on  that  point. 

The  next  morning  the  carriage  was  ordered  early,  for  my 
father  was  on  his  way  to  Long  Branch,  then  the  resort  of  some 


The  Academy. 


half  a  dozen  Philadelphia  families,  and  as  many  from  New  York, 
which  constituted  the  bulk  of  its  summer  visitors  of  that  day. 
When  the  moment  of  parting  came,  a  sense  of  isolation  sud 
denly  seized  me.  Here  I  was  to  be  left  alone  for  the  first  time 
in  my  life,  surrounded  by  utter  strangers.  With  tears  in  my 
eyes  I  kissed  the  horses  all  round  on  their  dear  noses.  We  were 
intimate  friends.  I  shook  hands  with  Caleb  the  coachman,  and, 
black  as  he  was,  I  wanted  to  hug  him.  The  last  pang  came. 
My  father  embraced  me,  entered  his  carriage — how  well  I 
remember  it,  painted  in  cream-colour,  and  lined  with  blue  ! — and 
the  whole  party  -rapidly  disappeared  behind  a  huge  cloud  of 
summer  dust.  I  stood  for  several  minutes  rooted  to  the  spot,  a 
prey  to  the  agony  that  Robinson  Crusoe  doubtless  felt  the  day 
he  landed  on  his  desert  island. 

At  length  I  turned,  with  my  heart  in  my  throat,  and  wended 
my  solitary  way  to  my  new  home  that  Mr.  Baird  had  selected 
for  my  abode,  the  house  of  Captain  Moore,  an  old  revolutionary 
soldier,  who  had  figured  in  the  battles  of  Trenton  and  Princeton 
under  Washington.  A  comfortable  dwelling  it  was,  standing  on 
the  main  road,  with  spacious  gardens  and  glorious  barnyard, 
filled  with  all  manner  of  live  things,  biped  and  quadruped.  In 
fact,  it  was  a  first-class  farmhouse,  surrounded  with  fields,  and  near 
by  a  delicious  country  lane,  that  led  to  endless  orchards  of  those 
famous  apples  that  carried  the  fame  of  New  Jersey  over  the 
whole  Union,  then  of  more  limited  dimensions.  Captain  Moore, 
bending  under  the  weight  of  seventy  winters,  was  always  busy 
prowling  about  the  farm.  His  wife,  a  buxom  dame  of  over 
fifty,  dominated  within  doors.  Her  niece,  a  charming  girl  of 
near  twenty,  assisted  in  household  duties.  I  looked  up  to  her 
with  awe,  for  at  that  time  women  inspired  me  with  singular 
dread.  Instinct  seemed  to  tell  me  there  was  danger  in  them.  I 
have  discovered  it  since  to  my  cost. 

My  fellow-lodgers  were  two  students  of  the  theological  semi 
nary  of  Princeton,  then  so  renowned  under  the  direction  of  the 
distinguished  divine  Dr.  Alexander.  One  of  these,  of  whom  I 
became  a  favourite,  was  George  Bethune,  afterwards  the  most 
eloquent  preacher  of  his  day,  as  many  in  Philadelphia  and  New 
York  must  remember.  It  was  in  this  pleasant  residence,  with 
these  surroundings,  I  laid  me  down  to  rest  the  first  night  of  my 
exile,  worn  out  with  conflicting  emotions. 

The  next  day  I  took  my  desk  at  the  academy,  and  began  my 


The  Academy. 


Latin  grammar.  I  will  spare  the  reader  the  dry  details  of  my 
apprenticeship  to  the  Classics.  I  am  forced  to  avow  that  I  never 
turned  out  a  prodigy — a  great  blessing,  as  my  career  would  not 
have  been  half  so  pleasant. 

People  of  genius  are  always  tormented  by  a  devil  beyond  their 
control.  They  work  tremendously,  achieve  fame  they  rarely 
appreciate,  and  die  for  the  most  part  unconscious  of  their  great 
ness.  Such  was  the  case,  I  am  sure,  with  Bacon,  Shakespeare, 
and  many  before  and  since.  This  conviction  ought  to  reconcile 
common  mortals  to  their  lot. 

For  my  part,  I  never  strained  to  excel  any  one  at  school.  I 
dallied  playfully  with  Latin  and  Greek,  took  a  mild  interest  in 
the  poetry  of  Virgil  and  Horace,  and  was  not  wholly  indifferent 
to  the  *  retreat'  of  Xenophon  and  the  travels  of  Herodotus.  The 
one  thing  that  confounded  me  quite  was  the  Chinese  wall  of 
mathematics.  I  never  could  get  through  it  or  over  it.  There 
was  evidently  something  wholly  irreconcilable  between  my  brain 
and  the  equations  of  algebra,  the  proportions  of  Euclid  and 
the  profounder  mysteries  of  conic  sections.  I  could  no  more  have 
extracted  the  '  cube-root'  than  one  of  my  own  teeth,  and  it 
would  have  been  no  easier  to  discover  the  '  unknown  quantity' 
in  algebra  than  the  interior  of  the  unknown  world.  I  supposed 
there  must  be  some  meaning  in  them,  and  I  tried  hard  to  pene 
trate  it,  but  without  result.  From  that  day  to  this  mathematics 
have  been  to  me  a  stupendous  enigma,  and  I  have  always  felt  a 
singular  reverence  for  those  who  could  understand  them.  I  was 
compelled  for  eight  weary  years  at  school  and  college  to  live  in 
daily  contact  with  them,  and  struggled  heroically  to  conceal"  my 
ignorance.  I  used  to  rattle  off  my  propositions  in  Euclid  to  the 
admiration  of  my  class,  and  wind  up  with  an  emphatic  quod  erat 
demonstrandum,  without  the  faintest  conception  of  what  I  had 
demonstrated.  I  simply  committed  the  problems  to  memory, 
which,  fortunately,  was  a  retentive  one.  Strange  to  say,  I  was 
never  found  out. 

Though  not  conspicuous  within  the  walls  of  the  academy, 
I  must  do  myself  the  justice  to  say  there  was  little  in  the  way  of 
frolic  without  that  I  did  not  actively  share  with  the  best,  or 
rather  the  worst.  I  never  refused  a  part  in  any  prank,  and 
though  rarely  caught — a  thing  I  had  a  dislike  of — I  was  never 
beyond  the  pale  of  suspicion. 

Thus  merrily  passed  life  at  Princeton.     Twice  a  year,  spring 


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and  autumn  vacation,  I  returned  to  Philadelphia.  What  halycon 
days  were  those  !  No  irksome  Latin  and  Greek  to  vex  my 
brain  :  no  nauseous  mathematics  to  sicken  it.  I  gave  myself  up 
to  endless  enjoyment. 

What  a  different  place  was  Philadelphia  then,  some  fifty 
years  ago !  Its  population  was  less  than  100,000,  and  its  pro 
minent  feature  was  a  grave  decorum,  to  be  ascribed  partly  to 
the  staid  manners  of  the  disciples  of  Penn,  who  were  numerous 
and  wealthy,  and  partly  to  the  influence  of  the  mother  country, 
which  survived  the  Revolution.  Many  of  the  leading  families 
were  English  by  birth  or  extraction,  and  their  social  supremacy 
was  cheerfully  recognised.  A  marriage,  a  birth,  or  a  death  in 
the  houses  of  the  Camacs,  the  Willings,  the  Kuhns,  the  Hamil- 
tons,  awakened  general  interest,  and  supplied  gossip  for  days- 
The  best  class  lived  in  considerable  state,  occupied  fine  houses 
in  town  and  country,  drove  handsome  equipages,  and  enter 
tained  brilliantly. 

During  my  vacations  I  used  to  dine  every  week  at  the 
Camacs',  who  had  a  spacious  mansion  in  South  Third-street 
The  hour  was  4  P.M.,  then  considered  ultra-fashionable.  The 
servants  were  white  men,  then  a  rare  thing,  and  were  imported 
from  England,  and  all  in  livery.  The  conversation  ran  upon 
English  topics  as  much  as  upon  American.  The  son-in-law  of 
Mr.  Camac  was  a  retired  British  officer,  Major  Rickets.  His 
only  son,  William,  returned  in  1824  from  a  tour  in  Europe,  and 
he  was  regarded  as  a  curiosity,  for  a  trip  over  the  Atlantic  was 
then  uncommon.  He  brought  home  a  section  of  the  Giant's 
Causeway  from  Ireland,  which  was  deposited  in  one  of  the 
drawing-rooms,  and  was  quite  reverentially  inspected  by  the 
fashionable  world.  This  handsome  scion  of  the  house  afterwards 
married  the  lovely  Miss  Markoe. 

The  placid  city  of  Penn  was  then  lighted  with  oil,  and  at  the 
corners  of  the  streets  stood  a  round  box  of  some  seven  feet  in 
height,  surmounted  by  a  lamp,  and  with  a  stove-pipe  peering 
out  of  the  roof.  It  was  just  large  enough  to  contain  a  man,  a 
small  stove  in  winter,  and  two  or  three  torches.  It  was  from  these 
dark  receptacles  sallied  forth  the  guardians  of  the  night,  armed 
with  a  blazing  flambeau  and  wooden  rattle,  to  cry  the  hour  and 
announce  the  state  of  the  weather.  Constables,  few  and  far 
between,  had  charge  of  the  day.  Wood  was  used  for  heating 
houses  high  and  low,  and  in  the  autumn,  negroes  with  their 


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,  horse  and  saw'  on  their  back  drove  a  brisk  business  in  all  the 
streets  when  the  winter's  supply  was  laid  in. 

Mysterious  rumours  were  beginning  to  prevail  that  a  new 
substance;  called  coal,  emitted  more  heat  than  wood,  and  made  a 
more  durable  fire.  One  bold  gentleman,  in  1824,  had  a  grate 
put  up  in  his  house  which  was  the  talk  of  the  town,  and  visitors 
thronged  to  see  the  novelty.  The  thoroughfares  then,  as  now, 
were  paved  with  cobble-stones,  and  jolting  work  it  was.  On 
Sunday  the  traffic  was  stopped  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
churches  by  a  chain  drawn  across  the  street ;  and  such  was  the 
sanctity  of  the  town,  that  driving  on  the  Sabbath  was  not  con 
sidered  respectable.  Oil  and  wax  lit  'up  the  houses  of  the  rich, 
and  tallow-candles  were  consumed  by  the  rest.  How  extraordi 
nary  that  through  numberless  centuries  no  progress  had  been 
made  in  artificial  light !  It  was  wax  and  oil  that  threw  their 
pale  lustre  over  the  feasts  of  Sardanapalus,  and  illuminated  the 
streets  and  houses  of  my  boyhood.  It  was  not  till  1816  that  gas 
was  much  used  in  London  for  lighting  the  thoroughfares.  In 
the  best  families  negroes  were  the  only  servants.  They  were 
free,  but  retained  the  civility  and  deference  of  their  former  con 
dition.  They  did  not  dream  they  were  the  equals  of  the  whites, 
either  socially  or  politically. 

A  steamboat,  nicknamed  'Old  Sal,'  ran  daily  in  summer 
from  Philadelphia  to  Bristol,  some  twenty  miles,  which  was 
usually  accomplished  in  three  hours.  Bristol  was  then  much 
resorted  to  by  the  beau  monde  of  Philadelphia,  many  of  whom 
built  pretty  villas  on  the  banks  of  the  Delaware.  A  small  hotel, 
presided  over  by  Joe  Head,  a  ci-devant  man  of  fortune,  but  who 
had  wasted  his  means,  was  always  filled  by  his  old  friends. 
Cooper,  the  tragedian,  occupied  one  of  the  finest  mansions  on 
the  river,  the  scene  of  many  festive  gatherings.  He  was  on 
familiar  terms  with  the  best  society,  and  married  a  Miss  Fairlie, 
a  fashionable  belle  of  New  York.  He  was  a  tall  man,  of  her 
culean  frame,  with  a  strikingly  handsome  face,  and  rather 
pompous  manner.  I  remember  as  a  boy  contemplating  him 
with  awe.  I  lived  to  see  him  bent  with  age,  poor,  and  forgotten, 
'  lagging  superfluous  on  the  stage*  of  life.  It  was  about  this  time 
he  performed  a  wonderful  feat,  requiring  immense  strength.  He 
played  in  New  York  and  Philadelphia  on  alternate  nights  for  a 
week,  and  gained  a  heavy  bet.  He  travelled  one  hundred  miles 
between  each  performance,  and  the  state  of  the  road  then  must 


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have  made  it  fearfully  fatiguing.  His  chance  for  sleep  was 
limited. 

A  sensation  was  created  in  Philadelphia  when  a  steamboat 
appeared  called  the  f  Trenton,'  that  ran  to  Bordentown,  some 
twenty-six  miles,  in  two  hours  and  a  half.  Passengers  then 
took  stage-coaches  for  New  Brunswick,  when  another  steamboat 
carried  them  to  New  York.  With  luck  the  journey  was  per 
formed  in  twelve  hours,  but  terrible  work  it  was  in  the  heat  of 
summer.  In  winter  the  only  route  to  New  York  was  by  land, 
the  rivers  being  closed  by  ice.  The  stage-coach  of  that  day  was 
drawn  by  four  horses,  and  carried  nine  passengers  on  three 
parallel  benches  more  or  less  cushioned.  A  boot  behind  con 
tained  the  luggage.  The  mails  were  conveyed  in  this  fashion, 
and,  leaving  Philadelphia  at  3  P.M.,  reached  New  York  some 
time  next  afternoon,  and  letters  were  delivered  the  following 
day.  This  was  the  ordinary  speed  then.  On  grand  occasions, 
such  as  delivering  the  President's  Message,  relays  of  horses  were 
employed,  and  the  precious  document  was  whirled  along  at  the 
magical  rate  of  ten  miles  the  hour. 

The  chief  places  of  amusement  in  Philadelphia  at  this  time 
consisted  of  a  theatre  and  circus — the  first  in  Chestnut-street,  near 
Sixth-street ;  and  the  latter,  corner  of  Walnut  and  Ninth  streets. 
The  '  New  Theatre,'  which  succeeded  the  old  one  burnt  in  1 820, 
was  built  by  subscription  amongst  the  leading  gentlemen  of  the 
town.  The  exterior  was  of  marble,  and  the  architecture  hand 
some.  The  interior  consisted  of  three  tiers  of  boxes,  a.  pit,  and 
gallery.  Private  boxes  were  then  unknown.  The  admission  to 
boxes  was  one  dollar,  to  pit  75  cents,  to  gallery  25  cents.  The 
benches  of  the  boxes  were  badly  cushioned,  with  no  backs.  The 
pit  benches  had  neither  cushions  or  backs.*  Our  forefathers 
must  have  been  a  stiff-backed  generation  to  accept  amusement 
on  such  terms.  Worse  than  all,  the  cold  in  winter  was  intense 
both  in  the  house  and  on-  the  stage,  as  no  heating  apparatus 
was  known.  Between  the  acts  crowds  of  men  collected  around 
two  huge  stoves  in  the  corridors  ;  but  women  were  compelled 
to  sit  out  the  performance  shivering  and  benumbed.  When 
snow  filled  the  streets,  locomotion  was  next  to  impossible.  No 
wonder  theatrical  enterprise  was  limited,  and  often  ended  in 

*  James  M 'Henry,  the  railway  magnate,  was  the  first  to  introduce  cushions  and 
backs  in  the  pit  of  the  Chestnut-street  Theatre  in  1836,  on  the  occasion  of  a  compli 
mentary  benefit,  when  he  was  at  the  head  of  the  committee. 


8  The  Academy. 

"bankruptcy.  Performances  were  given  three  times  a  week.  The 
managers  were  Wood  and  Warren,  both  admirable  actors.  No 
one  who  ever  witnessed  the  lago  or  Joseph  Surface  of  the  former, 
or  the  Falstaff  of  the  latter,  ever  forgot  it.  Wood  was  a  favourite 
in  the  best  society,  and  was  remarkable  for  his  conversational 
power.  Another  prominent  actor  of  that  day  was  Joseph 
Jefferson,  grandfather  of  the  popular  impersonator  of  Rip  Van 
Winkle.  In  comic  roles  he  was  unrivalled  ;  never  descending  to 
buffoonery,  or  running  into  caricature.  His  Paul  Pry  was  a 
masterpiece.  It  was  in  this  theatre  my  theatrical  novitiate 
began,  and  I  love  its  memory. 

My  passion  for  the  theatre  was  absorbing,  and  it  is  the  only 
pastime  of  my  youth  that  survives  unshorn  of  its  attraction. 
I  hasten  to  the  theatre  now  with  the  same  zest  as  in  my  unfledged 
boyhood,  and  I  derive  as  much  delight  from  a  performance, 
whether  dramatic  or  lyric,  serious  or  light,  as  I  ever  did.  To 
this  day  I  am  constantly  affected  to  tears  by  any  moving 
situation  o'n  the  stage  ;  whereas  in  real  life,  strange  to  say,  no 
suffering  I  may  experience,  or  the  sight  of  any,  ever  produces 
this  effect.  I  have  witnessed  many  piteous  scenes,  and  have 
even  stood  on  a  battle-field  covered  with  carnage  ;  and  though 
transfixed  with  horror  my  eyes  refused  their  natural  tribute, 
whilst  the  pathos  of  the  stage  appeals  irresistibly  to  my  emotions, 
and  invariably  subdues  me.  To  my  love  of  the  theatre  I  owe  a 
wide  acquaintance  and  many  lasting  friendships  with  most  of 
the  leading  artists,  male  and  female,  not  only  of  my  own 
country,  but  of  England  and  France,  for  the  last  forty  years. 
I  shall  speak  of  them  in  their  place. 

A  word  or  two  on  the  Philadelphia  newspapers  of  the  epoch 
in  question.  There  were  three  or  four  published  in  the  morning, 
and  two — if  I  recollect — in  the  afternoon.  Of  the  former,  the 
leading  one  was  the  United  States  Gazette,  J.  R.  Chandler 
editor ;  and  of  the  latter,  the  National  Gazette  was  the  most 
conspicuous,  its  editor  being  Robert  Walsh,  LL.D.  Chandler 
always  wrote  sensibly,  but  was  given  to  punning,  a  propensity  of 
the  town.  I  remember  a  sample.  '  No  one,'  he  declared,  '  who 
expectorates  can  expect-to-rate  as  a  gentleman.'  Walsh  was 
known  as  a  scholar,  and  wrote  in  the  Johnsonian  vein,  too 
pedantic  for  a  newspaper.  His  social  position  was  prominent, 
and  his  house  much  frequented.  The  papers  were  all  conducted 
411  a  very  economical  scale,  and  were  chiefly  got  up  by  the  editor 


The  Academy. 


and  a  -scissors-man.  Their  contents  consisted  of  a  short  editorial 
or  two,  some  paragraphs  of  news  a  few  days  old,  and  advertise 
ments  by  the  year.  When  Congress  was  in  session,  everything 
but  advertisements  was  occasionally  excluded  for  a  ( great 
speech'  by  some  party  idol.  For  the  press  of  Philadelphia,  like 
that  of  the  whole  country  at  that  day,  was  the  mere  handmaid 
of  party.  They  all  blew  the  same  strain,  and  trumpeted  daily 
the  virtues  and  the  crimes  of  their  own  side  and  the  opposition. 
This  was  the  whilom  condition  of  the  press,  and  no  one  dreamt 
of  change  or  improvement.  This  sketch  of  Philadelphia  of  half 
a  century  since  makes  the  transformation  that  has  since  occurred 
almost  magical. 

But  I  have  wandered  from  my  story.  Let  us  return  to  Princeton. 

It  was  the  third  year  of  my  classical  training.  I  remember 
it  well  from  an  incident,  the  first  of  its  kind.  I  fell  in  love,  and 
for  some  time  knew  not  what  ailed  me.  I  suppose  this  is  the 
case  with  the  initial  attack  of  every  disease.  The  object  that 
awoke  this  strange  tumult  within  me  was  adorable  for  her  beauty. 
Happily  I  never  knew  what  other  attractions  she  possessed. 
She  was  seventeen,  blue  eyes,  dark-brown  hair,  radiant  com 
plexion,  sweet  smile,  and  beautiful  teeth.  I  was  a  mere  urchin, 
but  doted  on  her  with  the  intensity  of  a  man.  Luckily  the 
paroxysm  was  so  strong  that  it  made  succeeding  ones  milder. 
The  charmer  in  question  was  unconscious  that  she  had  made  a 
fricassee  of  my  young  heart,  for  I  never  told  my  love.  I  used  to 
meet  her  in  the  same  pew  every  Sunday  at  the  village  church, 
and  gazed  at  her  intently  when  her  head  was  bent  over  her 
prayer-book.  If  her  eyes  by  chance  fell  upon  me,  I  tingled  all 
over,  and  wanted  to  creep  under  the  bench.  If  I  met  her  in  the 
street,  I  bounded  round  the  first  corner  or  into  a  shop.  I  was 
full  of  poetry,  but  could  not  write  it.  I  contented  myself 
when  alone  with  scribbling  her  name,  Hannah,  for  hours,  and 
happily  it  spelt  the  same  both  ways.  When  her  marriage 
occurred,  two  or  three  years  later,  it  was  a  dire  shock. 

At  this  age,  and  long  after,  the  fair  sex  wielded  a  kind  of 
mesmeric  influence  over  me,  to  be  attributed  in  part,  perhaps,  to 
an  extreme  nervous  sensibility,  and  in  part  to  an  inscrutable 
sympathy  founded  on  something  feminine  in  my  own  nature. 
As  boy  and  man,  the  companionship  of  women  has  always  been 
more  palatable  to  me  than  men.  The  truest  and  most  lasting 
friendships  of  my  life  have  been  with  women  that  had  no  other 


io  The  Academy. 


basis  than  simple  affection.  Those  I  have  loved  I  have  always 
lost — generally  the  case,  I  believe.  Yet,  notwithstanding  the 
sympathy  aforesaid,  and  the  deep  delight  I  found  in  female 
association,  I  have  never,  by  a  singular  perversity,  till  very  re 
cent  years,  felt  entire  self-possession  in  the  society  of  women. 
My  case  so  closely  resembles  that  of  an  anonymous  writer,  that 
I  cannot  refrain  from  quoting  his  language.  He  says  :  '  I  must 
with  shame  and  sorrow  own  that  in  one  important  respect — 
moral,  it  is  true,  rather  than  physical — I  have  been,  and  am 
afraid  always  shall  be,  something  of  a  poltroon.  I  mean  in  my 
relations  to  the  gentler  sex.  Whether  it  is  that  my  admiration 
for  these  beings,  partaking  as  it  does  of  the  nature  of  worship, 
begets  something  in  my  mind  of  the  dread  of  the  devotee,  I  do 
not  know.  The  fact  remains  that  I  have  never  been  introduced 
to  a  lady  without  at  the  same  instant  becoming  aware  of  a  sud 
den  failure  of  strength  in  my  knees,  and  a  corresponding  falter 
ing  in  my  voice.  I  am  told  that  I  blush  ;  I  know  that  I  feel 
very  hot.  Simultaneously  I  have  a  general  sensation  that  I 
should  rather  like  to  be  a  blot  upon  a  tablecloth  instead  of  a 
human  being.'  Whether  the  diffidence  that  always  disturbed 
my  intercourse  with  women  arose  from  constitutional  weakness, 
as  above,  or  from  a  consciousness  of  their  subtle  power  over  me, 
and  an  undefinable  dread  of  dangers  unknown,  I  cannot  say  ;  but 
most  certainly,  in  one  way  or  another,  women  have  been  any 
thing  but  my  guardian  angels,  for  nearly  all  the  serious  troubles 
of  my  variegated  career  have  been  in  connection  with  them,  as 
will  appear  hereafter. 

In  January  1826,  I  was  startled  by  the  following  letter  from 
my  father : 

Philadelphia,  January  21,  1826. 

Dear  Henry, — My  horses  were  at  the  door  yesterday,  and  I 
was  in  the  act  of  mounting  York,  when  I  was  taken  suddenly 
very  ill,  and  obliged  to  postpone  the  pleasure  of  paying  you  a  visit 
to  some  other  time.  I  send  by  the  mail-stage  a  box  containing 
two  vols.  Grceca  Majora  ;  Lempriere's  Classical  Dictionary ',  and 
Goldsmith's  Greece,  which  I  beg  you  will  take  care  to  study 
carefully  without  abusing  them,  as  your  books  are  to  be  of  use  to 
you  hereafter  as  well  as  now.  Upon  the  receipt  of  this  inquire 
at  the  post-office  for  a  small  box,  addressed  to  you,  containing 
the  books. — Affectionately  yours, 

H.  WIKOFF. 


The  Academy.  1 1 


I  had  no  presentiment  that  this  would  be  his  last  letter,  but 
so,  unhappily,  it  turned  out ;  for  just  one  month  from  the  above 
date,  to  my  great  affliction,  he  died,  leaving  me  heir  to  the 
greater  part  of  his  fortune.  Though  very  young  at  the  time,  I 
was  not  insensible  to  the  advantages  of  an  independent  position, 
and  if  I  could  have  had  my  own  way,  I  should  have  abandoned 
school  and  books  forthwith,  and  started  out  on  my  travels  ;  for  I 
was  already  animated  with  an  eager  desire  to  see  the  world,  and 
the  inhabitants  thereof.  But  I  passed  thenceforward  under  the 
guardianship  of  S.  P.  Wetherill  of  Philadelphia,  and,  until  I 
reached  my  majority,  was  subject  to  his  absolute  control.  It 
was  decided  I  should  pass  another  year  at  Princeton,  as  I  was 
considered  too  young  to  confront  the  temptations  of  university 
life.  I  was  nothing  loth,  as  this  lovely  village  had  infinite  charms 
for  me.  I  was  blessed  with  numerous  school-friendships,  and 
was  cordially  received  in  many  of  the  pleasantest  houses  of  the 
place.  Commodore  Renshaw  was  a  resident  there,  and  many  a 
cheerful  hour  I  passed  under  his  roof.  The  Stockton  family  was 
also  very  kind  to  me.  Richard,  the  signer  of  the  *  Declaration/ 
was  still  living,  and  his  son  Robert  was  already  looming  into  pro 
minence.  The  allotted  year  soon  glided  away,  and  the  hour  of 
parting  came.  I  bade  farewell  to  the  academic  groves  of  Prince 
ton,  and  returned  to  Philadelphia,  to  kiss  my  native  soil,  Antaeus- 
like,  and  gather  strength  for  my  new  career. 

In  looking  back  to  the  composition  of  my  undeveloped  mind 
at  this  period,  I  find  it  was  made  up  of  such  ill-assorted  mate 
rials,  and  was  swayed  by  such  wayward  contradictory  impulses, 
that  it  is  no  wonder  I  never  pursued  any  straight  line  through 
life,  never  aimed  at  any  distinct  object,  and  never  accomplished 
any  positive  result.  It  was  an  incongruous  mixture  of  antago 
nistic  ingredients ;  a  bit  of  variegated  mosaic,  consisting  of 
colours  the  most  dissimilar.  In  short,  no  quality  was  strong 
enough,  no  trait  sufficiently  dominant,  to. preponderate,  and  give 
definite  shape  to  my  character  or  purpose  to  my  career.  I  had 
nothing  in  common  with  that  practical  class  whose  motto  is 
Fac  et  Spera — do  and  hope — and  who  are  ever  steadily  pushing 
on  to  their  goal.  On  the  contrary,  I  belonged  rather  to  that 
erratic  category  who  may  be  likened  to  the  proverbial  schoolboy 
out  for  a  ramble.  He  moves  along  for  a  few  yards  on  the 
straight  road  with  surprising  perseverance,  and  then  sets  out 
after  a  butterfly,  looks  for  a  bird's-nest,  or  jumps  backwards 


1 2  The  Academy. 


and  forwards  over  a  ditch.  In  this  nimble  and  digressive 
manner  I  have  been  frisking  and  capering — carried  away  by 
animal  spirits — along  the  path  of  life.  My  ardent  temperament 
was  always  the  disturbing  element  ;  and  sentimentality  con 
stantly  misled  me  as  a  boy,  and  has  done  so  since.  I  was  ever 
passionate  in  my  likes,  lively  in  my  prejudices,  but  relenting  in 
my  hates.  I  have  often  speculated  if  I  should  have  turned  out  a 
more  useful  member  of  society  if  poverty  had  stared  me  in  the 
face,  and  forced  me  to  struggle  sternly  for  the  prizes  of  fortune. 
I  believe  many  a  successful  man  would  never  have  been  heard 
of  if  the  bread-and-butter  problem  had  not  driven  him  to  solve  it. 
At  the  time  I  refer  to  I  had  three  decided  fancies,  which  have 
never  deserted  me  :  a  newspaper,  the  theatre,  and  female 
society.  I  took  to  the  first  for  the  events  of  the  day,  as  indis 
pensable  to  me  as  my  food  ;  to  the  second,  for  an  amusement 
preferable  to  all  others  ;  and  to  the  third  from  irresistible  bent. 
What  is  a  newspaper  but  history  teaching  by  example  ?  whilst 
the  drama,  in  the  words  of  Pope,  was  meant 

'  To  touch  the  soul  by  tender  strokes  of  art, 
To  raise  the  genius,  and  to  mend  the  heart* 

As  for  the  fair  sex,  it  is  unnecessary  to  quote  poetry  or  dilate 
in  prose  on  its  multitudinous  charms.  At  the  age  in  question 
I  felt  all  these  penchants  strong  within  me,  and  yielded  to  their 
fascination,  without  knowing  whence  they  came  or  whither  they 
would  lead  me.  On  the  whole,  I  think  it  was  fortunate  I  was 
not  possessed  by  more  devils,  in  the  scriptural  sense,  and  of  a 
more  malignant  description. 


CHAPTER  It 

THE  UNIVERSITY. 

COLLEGE  PRANKS— A  MISFORTUNE — NEW  SCENE  OF  ACTIOif. 

MY  guardian,  after  due  consultation  with  several  friends  of 
1  young  Hopeful/  decided  on  sending  me  to  the  University  of 
Yale,  as  the  most  likely  to  supply  me  with  the  fullest  amount  of 
instruction,  and  to  give  most  prestige  to  my  future  career. 
Alas,  rhomme  propose  et  Dieu  dispose^  as  the  French  say.  It 
was  originally  intended  I  should  take  my  A.B.  at  Nassau  HalL 
I  doubt  if  I  could  have  learned  less  if  I  had  been  allowed  to 
linger  four  years  longer  in  Princeton,  and  to  bask  in  idleness 
under  the  lofty  shade  of  the  fine  old  campus,  the  pride  of  the 
college. 

In  June  1827  I  set  off,  in  company  with  my  guardian,  his 
eldest  daughter,  a  lovely  girl,  and  my  cousin  Anna  Matilda,  for 
New  Haven.  We  entered  New  York  at  six  in  the  evening, 
having  left  Philadelphia  at  the  same  hour  in  the  morning,  and 
drove  to  the  City  Hotel,  then  the  leading  hostelry  of  the  town. 
Our  parlour,  I  remember,  was  quite  palatial  ;  of  great  height  and 
extent,  not  surpassed  by  anything  of  the  present  day. 

This  was  my  first  visit  to  New  York,  and  the  first  town  of  any 
importance  after  my  own  I  had  ever  seen,  and  was  impressed 
accordingly.  It  was  not  laborious  to  investigate  it,  for  it  was  all 
concentrated  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Battery.  I  was  charmed 
with  this  fine  promenade  looking  on  the  magnificent  bay,  which 
is  not  surpassed  by  any  seen  since.  This  was  the  fashionable 
quarter,  though  predictions  were  flying  about  that  it  would  not 
be  so  always.  We  all  went  to  the  Park  Theatre,  the  leading  one 
of  the  place.  There  was  only  one  other,  of  inferior  standing,  and 
a  long  distance  up  the  Bowery.  I  was  enchanted  with  the 
drollery  of  an  admirable  actor,  Henry  Placide,  whom  I  knew  well 
in  later  years. 

Our  stay  was  only  of  two  or  three  days'  duration.  New 
York  struck  me  like  some  foreign  city,  so  dissimilar  was  its 
social  and  material  aspect  to  quiet  Philadelphia.  Its  two  great 


14  The  University. 


rivers  and  glorious  bay  made  me  blush  for  the  unpretending 
streams  of  my  native  town  ;  whilst  the  bustle  and  movement 
everywhere  prevalent,  even  at  that  day,  gave  me  a  notion  of 
trade  and  commerce  on  a  scale  I  had  never  before  witnessed. 

We  left  at  7  A.M.  in  the  steamer  for  New  Haven  through 
Long  Island  Sound,  which  seemed  like  going  to  sea,  for  I  had 
never  beheld  such  an  expanse  of  water  before.  After  a  delight 
ful  passage  of  nine  hours,  we  reached  our  destination  ;  but  ere 
we  got  to  the  Tontine  Hotel,  then  just  opened,  I  had  quite  lost 
my  heart  with  the  rustic  beauty  of  the  '  City  of  Elms.'  The 
prospect  of  spending  four  years  amid  the  pretty  unpaved  streets, 
and  gorgeous  foliage  that  abounded  on  every  side,  quite  capti 
vated  me,  and  I  thought  only  of  the  pleasant  days  in  store. 
Latin  and  Greek,  that  brought  me  there,  never  crossed  my 
mind. 

We  took  a  stroll  next  day  about  the  college  buildings,  all  of 
brick,  in  a  straight  line,  and  some  six  in  number.  They  had  a 
cheerful  appearance,  and  the  imprisonment  that  awaited  me  did 
not  repel.  I  was  too  late  for  the  third  term  of  the  freshman 
class  I  meant  to  enter,  and  my  admission  was  postponed  to 
September.  My  guardian  suggested  I  should  pass  the  summer 
in  New  Haven,  furbishing  up  my  classical  armour,  to  be  ready 
for  the  ordeal  of  the  autumn  ;  which  I  approved,  though  secretly 
meaning  to  make  a  more  agreeable  use  of  my  time.  The  ladies 
were  desirous  to  continue  their  trip  to  Boston ;  and  so  an  *  extra,' 
as  a  stage-coach  and  four  for  private  use  was  then  called,  was 
ordered  for  that  purpose.  The  party  drove  off  after  breakfast 
of  a  sweet  summer's  morning,  and  I  stood  for  several  minutes 
waving  my  handkerchief  after  them.  Here  was  I  left  a  second 
time  alone  amid  strangers,  but  I  experienced  none  of  the  deso 
lation  suffered  on  the  previous  occasion.  I  was  a  few  years  older, 
and  the  situation  was  less  trying.  The  summer  rolled  away 
rapidly,  and  I  remember  it  for  much  experience  that  was  quite 
new. 

I  also  remember  two  men  who  graduated  in  the  class  of 
1827,  that  were  frequently  pointed  out  to  me  as  its  most  conspi 
cuous  members.  One  was  the  son  of  a  very  prominent  states 
man,  which,  in  fact,  explained  the  notice  he  attracted  ;  but  there 
was  enough  of  individuality  about  John  Van  Buren  to  command 
attention.  He  had  already  revealed  the  traits  which  distinguished 
him  in  after  life — easy  and  careless  in  manner,  bold  in  character, 


The  University.  15 


and  of  an  aggressive  turn  of  mind.  His  rival  in  notoriety  had 
no  hereditary  claims  to  support  him  ;  but  he  was  gifted  with  a 
rare  poetical  talent,  that  had  already  secured  him  distinction  both 
in  and  out  of  college.  His  tone  and  bearing  were  aristocratic,  not 
unmixed  with  hauteur,  and  though  admired  for  his  abilities,  he 
never  commanded  the  sympathies  of  his  comrades.  Such  was 
N.  P.Willis  then,  and  such  he  remained  to  the  end  of  his  life. 
Neither  of  these  graduates,  if  I  remember,  bore  off  *  honours  ;' 
but  Willis  was  requested  by  his  class,  with  the  approval  of  the 
Faculty,  to  deliver  a  poem  at  the  commencement  of  1827.  I  was 
too  young  to  approach  these  Titans,  as  I  regarded  them,  and 
was  content  to  gaze  on  them  with  deference  as  they  swept 
by  me  in  the  street.  In  after  years  I  became  intimate  with  them 
both. 

I  passed  the  autumn  examination  without  difficulty,  and 
was  admitted  to  the  freshman  class  of  the  university.  I 
went  to  Philadelphia  for  the  vacation,  and  then  returned  to  New 
Haven  to  begin  business.  Dreading  the  practical  jokes  that 
were  visited  on  all  neophytes,  I  took  lodgings  out  of  the  college 
for  the  first  year,  and  my  room-mate  was  a  fellow-freshman 
and  townsman,  Edward  Wain.  He  was  a  hard  student,  and  I 
used  to  wonder  at  his  poring  over  d'ry  books  when  he  might 
pass  his  time  more  pleasantly.  I  dedicated  to  light  literature 
the  hours  he  used  to  devote  to  musty  studies,  though  I  always 
managed  to  make  a  good  show  at  recitation.  I  skimmed  over 
what  others  probed  to  the  bottom.  Wain  seemed  to  dread  a 
bad  example  ;  for  after  a  few  months  he  moved  into  college, 
and  continued  his  martyrdom  to  the  Classics  until  the  second 
term  of  his  junior  year,  when  he  obtained  an  '  oration/  a  high 
honour  ;  and  then,  strange  to  say,  his  habits  changed.  He  flung 
his  books  aside,  became  a  dandy,  and  gave  himself  up  to  the 
seductions  of  society.  I  was  guilty  of  no  such  inconsistency. 

In  the  last  term  of  my  freshman  year  a  singular  event 
occurred.  A  revolt  broke  out  in  the  university,  confined  at  first 
to  a  few  daring  spirits,  founded  on  an  outcry  against  the  rations 
of  the  college-hall,  which  gave  it  the  name  of  the  '  Bread-and- 
Butter  Rebellion.'  After  two  or  three  days,  the  Faculty,  with  a 
view  to  extinguish  it,  expelled  several  of  the  ringleaders  who 
were  popular  men.  This  spread  the  flame,  and  nearly  the  whole 
university  mutinied.  They  marched  in  procession  to  a  mons  sacer 
improvised  for  the  occasion,  and  made  solemn  vows  they  would 


16  The  University. 

not  return  to  duty  till  the  expelled  ones  were  reinstated.  As 
this  was  sternly  refused,  the  crisis  came,  and  there  was  nothing- 
left  but  to  yield,  or  abandon  the  university.  Some  gave  in,  and 
were  duly  hissed  and  hooted.  The  rest  packed  up  and  went 
home,  leaving  a  committee  to  report  on  the  future  action  of  the 
Faculty.  After  three  weeks  a  circular  from  our  committee  was 
despatched,  calling  us  back  ;  and  we  returned  to  discover  that 
the  victims  for  whom  we  threw  down  our  books  were  not  restored, 
but  that  solemn  pledges  were  given  that  the  butter  should  be  of 
better  quality  in  future.  Under  these  circumstances  we  resumed 
work.  It  is  needless  to  say  I  was  among  the  rebels  from  the 
start.  Exemption  from  study  was  sufficient  inducement,  and  I 
gave  myself  up  heartily  to  the  cause.  Fortunately  my  guardian 
thought  my  honour  was  involved  not  to  desert  my  comrades  in 
arms,  and  of  course  I  shared  his  point  of  view. 

My  second  year  I  moved  into  college,  and  participated  con 
amore  in  all  the  mad  pranks  practised  on  the  new-comers. 
Doors  were  tied  on  the  outside,  and  tobacco,  soaked  in  asafcetida, 
was  lighted  in  the  keyholes,  half  suffocating  the  luckless  wights 
within.  Sacking  bottoms  were  cut,  landing  the  weary  student 
on  the  floor  when  jumping  into  bed.  Window-panes  were 
broken  on  bitter  winter  nights,  and  the  shivering  victims  were 
cut  off  from  all  retreat.  These  rude  gambols  were  denounced 
by  the  Faculty  under  heavy  pains  and  penalties,  and  woe  to  the 
culprit  if  caught !  Many  a  lively  chase  had  I  with  a  tutor  in  my 
wake,  and  was  never  overtaken  but  once,  which,  like  Mercutio's 
wound,  might  have  done  for  me.  The  panting  avenger  of  college- 
law  seized  me  by  the  collar,  and  escape  was  hopeless. 

'  Your  name  ?'  he  demanded,  in  a  stern  tone. 

It  was  an  awful  moment.     Expulsion  hung  over  me. 

'  Your  name  ?'  he  repeated,  with  emphasis. 

'  Thomson,'  I  ejaculated. 

4  Your  college  ?'  he  continued. 

1  South,'  I  replied. 

'  You  will  appear  before  the  Faculty  at  ten  to-morrow  morn 
ing,'  he  thundered  out,  and  let  go  his  hold. 

I  vanished  in  the  darkness,  having  given  the  name  of  one  of 
the  steadiest  men  in  the  university — a  monstrum  eruditionis — 
who  was  electrified  at  being  summoned  next  day  to  be  made  an 
example  of.  He  had  to  prove  no  end  of  alibis  to  evade  his  im 
pending  doom.  It  is  a  pity  I  made  light  of  the  old  proverb, 


The  University. 


that  '  a  pitcher  that  goes  too  often  to  the  well  is  broken  at  last.' 
I  had  many  narrow  escapes,  and  should  have  been  warned. 

My  third  year  began  gaily.  As  a  *  Junior'  I  was  allowed 
better  rooms,  and  obtained  permission  to  furnish  them  hand 
somely.  I  introduced  paper-hangings,  carpets,  and  mirrors — all 
unusual  innovations.  One  day,  the  renowned  Professor  Silliman 
came  to  make  a  survey,  fearing  the  example  a  bad  one. 

'All  this  love  of  externals,  young  man,'  said  the  great 
savant,  '  argues  indifference  to  the  more  necessary  furniture  of 
the  brain,  which  is  your  special  business  here.' 

'  The  more  comfortable  my  rooms/  I  answered,  in  a  deferen 
tial  tone, '  the  more  pleasure  I  find  in  occupying  them.' 

'  Humph !'  he  retorted  mildly.  '  But  you  are  little  credited 
with  any  such  reputation  ;  however,  I  wish  you  well  ;'  and  he 
went  away  seemingly  mollified. 

It  is  true  that  lights  were  seen  oftener  in  my  windows  at 
night  than  of  yore.  Not  that  I  was  wasting  midnight  oil,  or 
damaging  my  constitution  by  laborious  study  ;  but  after  the 
rounds  of  the  tutor,  I  used  to  assemble  a  chosen  few  for  a  game 
of  whist  Innocent  amusement,  but  against  rules. 

One  of  my  chosen  comrades  at  this  time  was  Lorenzo  Kip  of 
New  York.  His  habits  were  good,  and  manners  refined.  He 
took  to  theology  on  leaving  college,  and  wound  up  as  a  bishop. 
He  once  saved  me  from  a  trouncing,  I  remember.  In  a  dispute 
in  his  room  I  knocked  my  adversary  over,  a  stouter  fellow  than 
myself.  He  rose  from  the  floor  furious  at  the  outrage,  and  I  was 
in  danger  of  expiating  it.  Kip  seized  him  in  his  arms  and  held 
him  till  his  rage  abated,  when  an  apology  ensued,  and  we  quietly 
resumed  our  argument.  Another  classmate  I  held  in  great 
reverence  was  Albert  Smith  of  South  Carolina.  His  name  was 
afterwards  changed  to  Rhett.  He  stood  at  the  head  of  the  class, 
and  the  first  honours  were  universally  conceded  to  him.  He 
excelled  in  everything,  conduct  included.  I  regarded  him  as  a 
phenomenon.  Strange  to  say,  he  got  involved  in  a  quarrel  with 
a  fellow-student  ;  a  fight  ensued,  in  which  a  dirk  was  used,  and 
both  were  expelled.  He  afterwards  entered  the  Legislature  of 
his  State,  but  died  prematurely.  A  strange  mysterious  fellow 
was  Worthington  of  Maryland.  He  enjoyed  a  frolic,  but  never 
gave  any  sign  of  exhilaration.  He  was  silent,  calm,  and  well- 
bred  under  all  circumstances.  He  puzzlecf  me  ;  but  I  liked  him. 
Long  years  afterwards,  I  met  a  beautiful  daughter  of  his  at  St. 
Petersburg,  at  the  house  of  Madame  Bodisco.  My  name  was 


1 8  The  University. 


familiar  to  her  from    hearing  her  father  talk   of  his  ci-devant 
college-chum. 

I  frequented,  during  my  junior  year,  many  of  the  attractive 
houses  of  New  Haven.  The  one  I  recall  the  most  vividly  is  that 
of  Mrs.  De  Forest,  a  lovely  widow  of  large  fortune.  Her  two 
beautiful  daughters  Pastora  and  Julia,  the  first  a  perfect  blonde, 
and  the  latter  a  matchless  brunette,  were  the  belles  of  the  town, 
and  happy  was  the  swain  who  secured  them  the  oftenest  for  a 
quadrille.  Waltzing  was  then  unknown.  Another  gem,  *  born 
to  blush  unseen' — for  she  went  but  little  into  society — was  Miss 
Goodrich,  who  was  afterwards  carried  off  a  bride  by  James  Phalen 
of  New  York. 

Nothing  in  my  whole  college  career  used  to  arouse  my  ire 
like  turning  out  in  the  morning  to  prayers.  Five  A.M.  in  the 
summer  was  bad  enough  ;  but  to  trot  to  the  chapel  at  six  A.M.  in 
the  winter,  in  the  darkness,  cold,  and  snow,  awoke  anything  but 
a  pious  spirit.  I  evaded  this .  ordeal  once  for  six  months  by  a 
happy  expedient.  I  ensconced  myself  behind  a  tutor's  box,  and 
w"hen  called  up  for  absence  from  prayers  declared  I  was  present, 
but  out  of  sight.  The  monitor  was  informed  of  this,  and  ceased 
reporting  me,  which  emboldened  me  to  set  the  ( last  bell'  at  defi 
ance  for  some  time,  without  discovery.  This  compulsory  early 
rising  made  a  late  man  of  me  ever  after.  I  can  appreciate  the 
feelings  of  the  old  officer  obliged  for  years  to  attend  parade  at 
sunrise,  and  who,  after  retiring  from  the  army,  ordered  his  ser 
vant  to  awake  him  as  usual. 
'  Parade,  sir,'  cried  the  valet 

Opening  his  eyes,  the  veteran  used  to  exclaim,  '  D — n  the 
parade  !'  and  turned  over  to  sleep  with  double  relish. 

As  the  close  of  my  second-term  junior  year  approached,  I 
began  to  experience  an  anxious  dread  of  the  formidable  ordeal 
that  awaited  me.  The  class  was  then  examined  on  the  entire 
range  of  its  studies — Latin,  Greek,  mathematics,  philosophy, 
logic,  chemistry,  and  the  Lord  knows  what  besides — for  the  two 
and  a  half  preceding  years.  It  was  enough  to  make  the  best 
student  tremble,  but  to  a  laggard  like  myself  it  was  full  of 
.errors.  Failure  to  pass  involved  going  down  for  a  year,  to  say 
nothing  of  the  disgrace.  The  experimentum  crucis  came,  and  I 
endured  the  strain  successfully.  The  future  now  was  without  a 
cloud.  The  rest  of  the  work  was  easy.  To  crown  all,  Professor 
Goodrich,  who  was  charged  with  my  exchequer  and  general 
supervision,  reported  favourably  to  my  guardian.  He  wrote : 


The  University.  19 


'  I  cannot  positively  censure  your  ward  for  his  expenditure,  though 
the  sum  is  certainly  greater  than  would  be  proper  for  any  young 
man  except  one  of  good  property.  For  the  rest,  his  conduct  has 
been  perfectly  correct,  his  bearing  amiable,  and  his  standing  as 
a  scholar  quite  good.'  The  worthy  professor  evidently  harboured 
no  disparaging  suspicions.  Sad  that  his  illusions  were  so  sud 
denly  dispelled  ! 

One  of  my  favourite  pastimes  was  driving,  and  I  was  allowed 
this  indulgence  on  the  half-holidays.  I  knew  a  young  lady  who 
equally  enjoyed  it,  and  we  often  drove  out  together.  No  great 
harm,  surely,  in  this.  It  happened,  however,  one  Sunday,  instead 
of  going  to  church,  as  in  duty  bound,  I  escorted  my  fair  friend  to 
see  her  parents,  some  miles  away  in  the  country.  A  storm  came 
on  at  night,  and  prevented  our  return.  I  struggled  hard  to  reach 
college  in  time  for  prayers  next  morning,  and  failed.  Soon 
after  breakfast  I  was  summoned  to  the  President's  apartment, 
which  startled  me,  but  I  suspected  no  danger.  As  I  entered  I 
scanned  the  countenance  of  the  venerable  President,  Jeremiah 
Day,  and  the  expression  was  one  '  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger.' 

*  You  were  not  at  prayers  this  morning/  he  began. 

'  I  overslept  myself,'  was  my  reply. 

'  You  were  not  in  college  last  night1 

I  was  about  improvising  an  explanation,  when  he  added : 

'You  were  seen  driving  into  town  this  morning  early  with  a 
lady.' 

I  was  utterly  disconcerted,  .and  hung  my  head  in  silence. 

1  The  Faculty  will  deliberate  on  your  case,'  he  said  gravely  r 
'at  their  next  meeting.  Meanwhile,  you  had  better  retire  to 
Stamford,  and  await  the  result.' 

All  was  said,  and  I  withdrew. 

Here  I  was  stranded  at  last.  After  a  thousand  escapes,  to 
be  finally  shipwrecked  !  and  to  think  that  it  was  a  woman  who 
brought  this  upon  me !  Turned  out  of  Eden  like  my  first 
ancestor,  and  a  descendant  of  Eve  the  primary  cause  !  Verily 
history  repeats  itself!  I  made  sundry  solemn  resolutions  on  the 
spot.  Silly,  I  did  not  adhere  to  them.  I  put  my  rooms  in  the 
care  of  the  janitor,  and  slipped  off  without  explanation  to  my 
coterie  to  the  place  designated.  In  a  few  days  my  doom  came 
— 'private  dismissal.'  It  was  some  consolation  to  have  .escaped 
'expulsion' — that  was  publicly  announced  in  the  chapel.  This 
was  the  first  serious  scrape  of  my  life,  and  I  was  perplexed  in 
the  extreme.  How  to  face  my  guardian  ?  what  new  career  to 


2O  The  University. 


begin  ?     I  felt  like  flying  to  the  uttermost  parts  of  the  earth,  but 
lacked  funds  for  so  long  a  trip. 

After  profound  cogitation,  I  plucked  up  courage  to  meet  the 
emergency.  I  found  comfort  in  a  line  of  Virgil — Tu  ne  cede 
malis,  sed  contra  audentior  ito  ('  Yield  not  to  misfortunes,  but,  on 
the  contrary,  meet  them  boldly').  I  set  off  for  Philadelphia,  and 
arrived  at  8  A.M.  I  sought  an  interview  with  my  guardian,  who 
received  me  in  sullen  silence.  At  length,  raising  his  head  from 
his  newspaper,  he  remarked  : 

*  You  have  got  yourself  into  a  pretty  scrape.' 

'  Yes/  was  my  curt  reply. 

After  a  long  pause,  he  inquired  : 

'  What  do  you  propose  to  do  now  ?' 

'  Enter  another  college,'  I  replied,  with  resolution. 

He  quietly  wrote  a  cheque,  and  handed  it  to  me  with  the 
laconic  remark  : 

'  The  sooner  you  do  it,  the  better.' 

Bidding  him  '  Good-morning,'  I  hastened  gladly  from  his 
sombre  presence.  I  left  town  at  twelve,  without  seeing  a  single 
person  I  knew,  and  made  my  way  for  Boston,  meaning  to  try 
my  luck  at  Harvard  University,  in  the  neighbourhood.  Under 
other  circumstances  I  should  have  enjoyed  my  first  visit  to  this 
handsome  city,  but  a  shadow  seemed  to  rest  on  every  object. 
The  only  thing  that  attracted  my  attention  was  the  Tremont 
House,  where  I  put  up.  It  had  just  opened,  and  its  size  and 
splendour  impressed  me.  Hotels  on  such  a  scale  were  then  a 
novelty.  On  tapping  at  the  door  of  Harvard,  I  was  informed 
that  my  banishment  from  Yale  had  reached  them,  and  admission 
was,  of  course,  impossible.  It  was  the  cruel  etiquette  at  that  time, 
and  probably  now,  between  all  the  colleges,  not  to  accept  a 
student  who  had  been  ejected  from  another.  I  daresay  this 
has  blighted  the  career  of  many  a  young  man,  who  saw  no  chance 
of  reinstating  himself.' 

Upon  this  repulse  I  hurried  across  the  country  to  Schenec- 
tady,  N.Y.,  to  see  if  I  could  find  an  opening  at  Union  College. 
This  institution  was  under  the  special  direction  of  the  celebrated 
Dr.  Nott,  and  I  had  read  numerous  anecdotes  of  his  eccentric 
character  and  benevolent  disposition.  I  knew  he  had  the 
authority  to  admit  me  if  I  found  favour  in  his  eyes.  Accord 
ingly  I  waited  upon  him,  gave  my  name,  and  expressed  a  desire 
to  enter  the  senior  class.  He  was  a  tall  man,  of  robust  frame 
and  advanced  age.  His  head  was  large,  with  keen  gray  eyes, 

i 


University.  21 


not  without  a  certain  expression  of  benignity.     He  regarded  me 
attentively  for  a  minute  or  two. 

'  I  know  all  about  you,  young  man,'  he  said.  *  You  haver 
recently  been  dismissed  from  Yale.' 

Though  taken  aback,  I  ventured  to  say,  c  It  was  hard  to  lose 
my  diploma  for  a  single  offence,'  and  I  looked  up  appealingly. 

'  Your  character  is  none  of  the  best,'  he  returned.  '  I  fear 
you  will  be  anything  but  a  good  example ;  and  I  have  bad 
fellows  enough  to  deal  with.' 

'  Depend  on  it,  Mr.  President/  I  expostulated,  '  if  you'll  give 
me  another  chance,  I  will  never  cause  you  to  regret  it.' 

'  I  have  my  doubts/  he  said,  in  his  blunt  way ;  '  but  if  you 
can  pass,  I  will  admit  you.1 

For  two  or  three  days  I  was  tossed  about  from  one  pro 
fessor  to  another,  and  a  torturing  process  it  was  ;  but  I  floun 
dered  through,  and  took  my  place  in  -the  senior  class.  My 
guardian  was  reconciled,  and  neither  his  family  nor  my  friends 
ever  knew  of  my  mishap. 

On  the  beginning  of  the  term  the  good-hearted  President 
summoned  me  to  say  he  had  assigned  me  quarters  in  his 
immediate  neighbourhood,  and  meant  to  keep  his  eye  on  me. 
I  knew  of  his  infinite  delight  in  detecting  a  delinquent,  and 
he  was  said  even  to  disguise  himself  at  times  for  that  purpose. 
It  was  not  unlikely  I  should  put  his  dexterity  to  the  test,  for 
I  discovered,  to  my  horror,  that  no  sooner  were  my  troubles 
over  than  my  love  of  frolic  returned.  My  room-mate  was  a 
bright  jolly  fellow  ;  but  he  was  in  love,  if  not  actually  en 
gaged  to  be  married,  and  took  no  interest  in  vulgar  revels.  I 
am  speaking  of  De  Witt  Clinton  Clark,  so  long  an  official  of  the  . 
Lower  House  of  Congress.  I  found  a  congenial  spirit  in  George 
Brisbane,  brother  of  Albert  the  Fourierite  ;  and  many  a  brisk 
drive  had  we  of  a  bitter  winter's  night,  when  Dr.  Nott  was 
in  bed,  all  the  way  to  Albany,  sixteen  miles,  before  a  railway 
was  thought  of,  and  only  for  the  sake  of  a  good  supper.  But  it 
was  forbidden  fruit,  and  that,  to  thoughtless  youth,  is  irresistible. 

I  remember  an  incident  of  this  winter  of  a  very  simple 
character,  but  which  has  oft  and  again  recurred  to  me.  I  was 
in  the  habit  of  dropping  into  the  leading  hotel  in  the  town  once 
or  twice  a  week,  to  solace  myself  with  a  comfortable  breakfast, 
as  college-rations  were  not  altogether  up  to  my  standard  of  good 
fare.  One  morning  I  took  my  place  at  the  long  table  of  the 
dining-room,  and  remarked  there  was  only  one  person  seated 


22  The  University. 


there.  He  was  an  old  man  quite  bent  with  age,  and  his  hand 
trembled  as  he  raised  his  cup  to  his  lips.  His  thin  gray  hair 
sparsely  covered  a  well-shaped  head  ;  but  the  uncommon  bril 
liancy  of  his  eye,  undimmed  by  years,  and  its  furtive  restless 
glances,  attracted  my  attention.  There  was  something,  too,  in 
his  manner  that  impressed  me — a  quiet  dignity,  a  certain  air 
of  authority,  that  indicated  he  was  no  common  man.  I  felt 
induced  to  engage  him  in  conversation,  but  there  was  a  frigid 
reserve  about  him  that  discouraged  me.  I  observed  him  stealthily 
until  he  rose  and  went  away.  I  called  the  waiter,  and  asked  if 
he  knew  the  gentleman  who  had  just  left  the  room. 

'  I  know  his  name,'  he  replied.  *  He  arrived  an  hour  since, 
and  goes  off  immediately.' 

1  What  is  his  name  ?'  I  demanded. 

'Aaron  Burr.' 

I  was  thunderstruck.  '  Aaron  Burr !'  I  repeated  mechanically. 
I  had  been  sitting,  wholly  unconscious  of  the  fact,  face  to  face 
with  the  man  who  *had  been  an  aide-de-camp  of  Washington  ; 
who  had  come  within  one  vote  of  the  Presidency  of  the  United 
States  against  his  illustrious  rival  Jefferson  ;  the  man  who  had 
killed  Alexander  Hamilton  in  a  duel ;  and  finally  was  mixed 
up  with  a  mysterious  organisation  supposed  to  be  of  a  treason 
able  character.  Shunned,  hated,  and  despised,  he  sought, 
late  in  life,  to  escape  destitution  by  marrying  the  widow  of  a 
French  jeweller  of  New  York,  who  soon  abandoned  him,  but 
was  induced  to  grant  him  a  stipend,  on  which  he  subsisted.  He 
was,  indeed,  a  rare  instance  of  the  mutability  of  fortune.  His 
extraordinary  talents  had  raised  him  almost  to  the  sovereignty 
of  the  country,  when  he  fell  headlong  into  the  lowest  abyss  of 
scbrn, '  a  proverb  and  a  by-word  among  all  people.'  Without 
knowing  him,  I  had  been  curiously  scanning  the  features  and  person 
of  this  remarkable  man,  who  was  on  the  last  stage  of  his  journey 
to  the  tomb,  unaccompanied  by  that  '  honour,  love,  obedience, 
and  troops  of  friends'  that  Macbeth  regarded  as  the  reward  of  a 
well-spent  life.  For  days  I  was  haunted  by  this  strange  rencontre. 

My  senior  year  at  Union  College  rolled  by  without  especial 
incident.  With  all  his  dexterity  and  vigilance,  the  good  old 
President  had  utterly  failed  to  get  me  in  his  grip,  and  I  am  sure 
thought  none  the  worse  of  me  for  eluding  him.  We  parted  the 
best  of  friends  in  July  1831,  when  he  handed  me  my  diploma 
with  a  bene  exeat.  I  shall  always  revere  his  memory. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  PROFESSION. 

A  REFORM — POLITICAL  MANOEUVRING SCENE  AT  THE  WHITE  HOUSE- 
VISIT  TO  '  NELLY  CUSTIS,'  ETC. 

No  sooner  had  I  shaken  off  the  trammels  of  collegiate  life  than 
I  began  my  travels.  I  dashed  off  in  August  1831  for  Niagara 
Falls.  Never  shall  I  forget  the  weariness  of  the  three  days  and 
nights  I  was  couped  up  in  the  stage-coach,  in  melting  weather 
and  dusty  roads.  The  grandeur  of  this  famous  cataract  recon 
ciled  me  for  this  loss  of  time  and  temper.  After  a  leisurely 
survey  of  this  great  wonder  of  Nature,  I  made  my  way  over  Lake 
Ontario  to  Montreal.  This  was  the  first  foreign  city  I  ever 
beheld,  and  was  deeply  impressed.  It  was  delightful  to  hear  the 
people  speaking  French,  though  I  could  not  then  understand  a 
word.  Descending  the  St.  Lawrence,  I  reached  Quebec.  Its  massive 
fortifications,  an  utter  novelty,  brought  the  Middle  Ages  vividly 
before  me.  At  the  theatre  my  attention  was  diverted  from  the 
stage  by  the  entrance  of  the  Governor-General  of  Canada,  the 
Earl  of  Aylmer.  He  was  a  comely-looking  man,  of  dignified 
mien,  in  evening  dress,  with  a  star  on  his  left  breast.  I  had 
never  contemplated  a  British  nobleman  before,  and  I  regarded 
him  with  the  liveliest  interest.  My  mind  soon  wandered  from 
the  individual  before  me,  and  I  thought  of  the  class  he  repre 
sented,  who  were  identified  with  the  history  and  glory  of  England 
for  so  many  centuries. 

Bending  my  way  homewards,  I  crossed  the  New  England 
States,  and  was  enchanted  with  the  fine  mountain  scenery,  the 
trim  villages  fronting  on  broad  avenues  lined  with  lofty  trees, 
and  the  industrious  keen-visaged  people  who  inhabited  them. 

On  my  return  to  Philadelphia,  I  held  a  consultation  with  my 
guardian  on  my  future  movements.  I  was  eager  to  make  my 
way  to  Europe,  long  an  ardent  wish,  and  swelling  into  a  passion 
as  the  time  approached.  He  counselled  delay. 

'  Wait  till  you  are  of  age/  he  remarked. 

'  And  meanwhile  ?'  I  queried. 


24  A  Profession. 


'  Meanwhile/  he  said,  '  I  would  suggest  your  reading  a  course 
of  law.  If  you  never  practise,  it  will  be  useful  knowledge  ;  be 
sides,  you  can  employ  your  vacations  profitably  in  travelling  over 
your  own  country  before  you  visit  foreign  lands.' 

I  felt  the  advice  was  sound,  and  adopted  it.  In  "October  of 
that  year  I  entered  the  office  of  Joseph  R.  Ingersoll,  one  of  the 
leading  members  of  the  Philadelphia  bar,  whom  I  had  known 
from  my  boyhood,  and  I  shared  in  the  universal  respect  enter 
tained  for  him  by  the  profession  and  the  community.  He  was 
not  only  a  conspicuous  lawyer,  but  a  man  absolutely  faultless  in 
all  the  relations  of  life.* 

Among  my  fellow-students  in  the  office  of  Mr.  Ingersoll  I 
encountered  two  of  my  classmates  at  Yale — Edward  Wain, 
already  mentioned,  and  W.  Hemphill  Jones,  one  of  my  intimes. 
His  talents  were  of  a  superior  order,  but  he  showed  little  relish 
for  legal  lore. 

Whether  it  was  to  merit  the  approbation  of  Mr.  Ingersoll,  or 
from  a  conviction  that  I  had  made  but  a  sorry  use  of  my  oppor 
tunities  hitherto,  I  know  not ;  but  I  resolved  henceforth  on  a 
steady  and  studious  life.  My  first  step  was  to  abandon  the 
society  of  all  my  gay  companions,  and  then  I  set  to  work  to 
contract  habits  of  application.  I  divided  my  time  equally 
between  law,  history,  and  general  literature,  some  three  hours 
daily  to  each.  The  novelty  of  continuous  labour  stimulated 
me  at  first,  but  I  found  it  required  no  small  resolution  to 
keep  it  up.  I  began  my  legal  course  with  Montesquieu's 
celebrated  book  on  the  'Spirit  of  Laws'  (L  Esprit  des  Lois), 
which  charmed  me  greatly.  I  soon  discovered  that  it  was  not 
law  when  I  began  to  read  Blackstone's  Commentaries;  but 
this  was  downright  poetry  to  the  next  book  put  into  my 
hands, — Coke  on  Littleton.  It  was  the  toughest  job  I  ever 
undertook,  and,  unaccustomed  to  such  a  strain,  it  was  enough 
to  disjoint  my  mind  altogether.  It  had  one  advantage,  however, 
over  mathematics ;  for  after  poring  a  dozen  times  over  a  page  of 
its  musty  Latin  and  Norman  French,  I  could  extract  some  idea 
of  its  meaning,  which  never  happened  in  the  other  case. 

It  was  a  relief  to  turn  from  arid  law  to  the  more  attractive 
details  of  history.  The  actions  of  men,  individually  or  in  the 
aggregate,  always  had  great  fascination  for  me.  The  vicissitudes 

*  After  leaving  the  bar  he  accepted  a  seat  in  Congress,  and  wound  up  hin  public 
career  as  Minister  to  England. 


A  Profession.  25 

of  the  untutored  masses  in  the  past  history  of  the  world,  led 
hither  and  thither  by  the  subtle  craft  of  superior  men  aiming 
at  their  own  aggrandisement,  are  always  interesting,  though 
sad  to  contemplate.  The  selfish  ambition  of  great  men  is 
almost  invariable  ;  but  at  intervals  the  eye  is  caught  by  some 
striking  figures,  which  spring  up  to  ennoble  their  country  and 
their  epoch  by  disinterested  devotion  to*  the  general  good.  Such 
was  our  Washington  ;  and  the  United  States  are  fortunate  in 
their  short  career  to  have  furnished  the  world  with  one  of  the 
most  perfect  types  of  hero  and  patriot. 

In  the  way  of  general  reading  at  this  time,  I  used  to  devour 
Bulwer's  novels.  His  Pel/mm  enchanted  me.  I  felt  a  new 
master  of  fiction  had  appeared,  and  with  a  special  merit  of  his 
own.  It  was  the  vein  of  philosophy  that  pervaded  his  writings 
which  attracted  me,  and  aroused  a  habit  of  reflection  vastly 
beneficial".  I  believe  I  derived  more  instruction  in  this  way  from 
Bulwer  than  any  author  I  ever  read.  He  was  then  little  known, 
but  in  later  years  he  developed  genius  of  the  highest  order. 
In  history,  poetry,  oratory,  as  well  as  fiction,  he  gave  indubi 
table  proofs  of  a  master  mind. 

After  three  months'  fagging  I  thought  myself  entitled  to  a 
holiday,  and  I  resolved  on  a  visit  to  Washington.  I  was  filled 
with  a  burning  desire  to  see  the  great  actors  on  the  politi 
cal  stage,  whose  names  were  familiar  as  household  words.  I 
had  not  the  ambition  exactly  of  Norval  on  the  Grampian 
Hills  to  '  follow  some  warlike  lord,'  or  anybody  else,  still  less 
any  desire  to  take  a  hand  in  the  world's  game,  but  really  eager 
to  find  out,  if  I  could,  what  was  going  on,  and,  above  all,  to  see 
and  know  the  chief  figures  on  the  scene. 

Towards  the  end  of  December  1831,  I  left  Philadelphia  in 
the  stage-coach  for  Baltimore,  the  only  route  in  winter  ;  and  was 
twenty-four  hours  on  the  road,  and  half  frozen  at  that.  I  rested 
a  day  on  reaching  it,  partly  to  have  a  glimpse  of  the  renowned 
metropolis  of  canvas-back,  ducks  and  pretty  women,  and  partly 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  the  leading  man  of  the  place.  I 
did  the  first  in  the  morning,  and  was  favourably  impressed.  In 
the  afternoon  I  delivered  my  introductions  to  General  Samuel 
Smith,  then  the  Nestor  of  .the  United  States  Senate.  First  a 
merchant,  then  a  soldier  in  the  war  of  1 8 1 2,  and  finally  a  politician, 
he  was  successful  in  each  career.  He  lived  in  a  fine  mansion, 
with  servants  in  livery,  and  drove  a  carriage-and-four.  The 


26  A  Profession. 


house,  with  its  quaint  furniture,  and  the  manners  and  dress  of  its 
owner,  all  bore  the  stamp  of  the  colonial  period,  which  had  not 
then  utterly  disappeared.  Intelligent,  energetic,  and  upright, 
General  Smith  was  a  perfect  model,  and  one  of  the  last,  of  that 
resolute  band  of  colonial  gentlemen  who  built  up  the  Union.* 
After  a  pleasant  interview  with  the  veteran,  whose  courtly  address 
quite  charmed  me,  I  took  my  leave,  regretting  I  was  obliged  to 
decline  his  courteous  hospitalities.  General  Smith  had  two 
daughters.  One  married  Mr.  Mansfield,  Secretary  of  the  British 
Legation  at  Washington.  They  afterwards  lived  in  great  style 
in  London.f  The  second  married  Christopher  Hughes,  for  many 
years  United  States  Chargt  d*  Affaires  at  Sweden,  and  widely 
known  in  fashionable  circles  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic. 

I  was  tossed  about  for  nearly  the  entire  day  in  the  stage-coach 
from  Baltimore  to  Washington,  but  tried  to  divert  my  mind  by 
pondering  over  the  wonderful  men  I  was  so  soon  to  see  at  the 
Federal  capital.  None  of  them  stirred  my  curiosity  to  such  a 
degree  astheoccupant  of  the  Presidential  mansion,  General  Andrew 
Jackson.  His  character  and  career  were  both  extraordinary. 
He  was  a  native  of  North  Carolina,  but  of  Irish  descent,  which 
perhaps  explained  the  pugnacity  of  his  disposition,  that  never  lost 
an  occasion  to  assert  itself.  An  orphan  at  three  years  old,  he 
was  apprenticed  to  a  sadler.  Then  he  became  a  schoolmaster, 
and  next  a  lawyer.  He  removed  to  Nashville,  Tennessee,  and 
soon  entered  the  Legislature.  Later  he  was  sent  to  the  United 
States  House  of  Representatives  sitting  in  Philadelphia,  1798, 
and  afterwards  to  the  United  States  Senate.  Resigning  his  seat, 
he  then  took  to  mercantile  life,  and  acquired  fortune  enough  to 
buy  a  plantation.  He  became  a  general  of  militia,  and  com 
manded  in  various  forays  with  the  Indians.  But  this  was  not 
enough  to  satisfy  his  combative  propensities,  and  he  was  fre- 

*  A  proof  of  his  practical  character  was  displayed  during  a  riot  that  once  occurred 
in  Baltimore  from  the  failure  of  a  bank.  The  mob  obtained  possession  of  the  town, 
and  a  public  meeting  was  convened,  and  a  string  of  resolutions  was  read.  Suddenly 
a  voice  exclaimed,  '  D — n  your  resolutions  !'  An  uproar  ensued,  when  it  was  dis 
covered  that  it  was  no  other  than  the  revered  General  Smith  who  had  given  way  to 
this  contemptuous  expression.  He  was  at  once  entreated  to  come  on  the  platform 
and  suggest  some  plan  of  action.  '  Give  me  that  fla-^.'  he  cried  out,  '  and  follow  me 
to  Howard  Park,  and  I  will  find  you  a  plan  of  action.'  Arriving  there,  and  sur 
rounded  by  an  enthusiastic  crowd,  he  proclaimed  on  his  own  responsibility  the  city 
under  martial  law,  organised  and  armed  the  citizen?,  divided  the  town  into  military 
districts,  and  patrolled  every  street.  This  soon  disposed  of  the  riot. 

f  Their  youngest  son  achieved  great  distinction  in  the  British  army,  and  was 
raised  to  the  House  of  Peers  as  Lord  Sandhurst. 


A  Profession.  27 


quently  engaged  in  duels  and  'free  fights.'  His  duel  with 
Dickinson  of  Nashville  was  striking.  The  latter  was  a  notorious 
'  dead  shot/  and  never  known  to  miss  his  man.  Jackson  was 
warned  that  Dickinson  always  fired  on  the  word,  and  he  did  so 
on  this  occasion  ;  but  Jackson  did  not  fall.  '  Good  God/  cried 
his  antagonist,  '  have  I  missed  him  ?'  Jackson  then  took  steady 
aim,  and  killed  his  opponent.  It  was  only  when  walking  away 
it  was  discovered  that  he  had  a  rib  broken  and  was  badly 
wounded. 

His  fight  with  the  brothers  Benton  was  remarkable.  There 
were  five  in  the  affray,  and  pistols  and  poniards  were  freely  used  ; 
yet  nobody  was  killed.  Jackson  received  a  ball  in  the  shoulder 
that  was  never  extracted.  The  physicians  wished. to  amputate 
his  arm,  but  he  set  them  at  defiance.  Another  event  of  his  life 
at  Nashville  was.  romantic.  A  friend  of  his  ill-treated  his  wife. 
Jackson  took  her  part,  and  fought  the  husband.  A  divorce 
ensued,  and  Jackson  married  the  lady.  In  January  1815  he 
commanded  at  New  Orleans  less  than  3000  militiamen,  in 
trenched  behind  cotton  bales,  in  a  battle  with  over  14,000  picked 
troops  of  the  British  army.  The  fight  began  at  8  A.M.,  and  the 
British  general  at  2  P.M.  demanded  a  truce,  and  abandoned  the  field. 
A  little  later,  Jackson  commanded  in  a  campaign  against  theSemi- 
nole  Indians  in  Florida,  then  belonging  to  Spain,  which  he  seized 
and  occupied.  By  this  time  his  popularity  was  so  great  that  some 
shrewd  politicians  singled  him  out  as  a  candidate  for  the  Presi 
dency  ;  and  in  1824  he  ran  against  John  Quincey  Adams,  W.  H. 
Crawford,  and  Henry  Clay.  He  got  the  highest  vote,  but  not  a 
majority,  and  the  election  went  into  the  House  of  Representatives. 
Clay  gave  his  votes  to  Adams,  who  was  consequently  elected.  In 
1828,  Jackson  ran  again,  and  utterly  distanced  his  competitor. 
These  were  only  some  of  the  incidents  of  his  marvellous  career 
that  occurred  to  me  at  the  time,  but  they  revealed  his  prominent 
traits — a  fearless  courage,  an  unbending  will,  and  singular  up 
rightness. 

He  had  now  been  nearly  three  years  in  office,  and  I  recalled 
some  of  the  stirring  events  of  his  tenure.  The  General  was  no 
politician  by  nature  or  education.  He  was  a  man  of  action  ; 
above  all,  a  man  of  combat.  *  It  has  been  the  rule  of  my  life/  he 
once  said,  *  never  to  tamper  with  an  enemy.'  He  was  straight 
forward,  well-intentioned,  but  explosive — just  the  man  to  fall 
under  the  influence  of  a  dextrous  intriguer.  Such  was  his  fate. 


28  A  Profession. 


His  first  Secretary  of  State  was  Martin  Van  Buren,  wonderfully 
versed  in  all  the  arts  of  political  legerdemain.  He  aimed  at  the 
Presidency,  and  he  meant  to  use  Jackson  to  effect  it.  A  formid 
able  rival,  however,  stood  in  his  way — no  less  than  John  C.  Cal- 
houn,  elected  Vice-President  with  Jackson.  The  first  act  of  the 
new  Administration  in  1829  raised  an  immense  outcry.  A  vast 
number  of  office-holders  were  removed,-  including  five  hundred 
postmasters,  together  with  collectors  and  surveyors,  &c.,  in  propor 
tion.  This  was  a  new  policy,  and  much  condemned.  Jefferson 
had  only  removed  thirty-nine  incumbents,  and  other  Presidents 
still  fewer.  Jackson  had  once  declared  in  previous  years  that 
no  one  should  be  proscribed  for  opinions'  sake,  but  he  was  soon 
convinced  of  the  expediency  of  wholesale  removals.  Of  course, 
Van  Buren's  friends  filled  the  vacancies.  The  next  step  was  'on 
King  Henry's  head.'  It  was  not  difficult  to  persuade  the  unsus 
pecting  Jackson  that  his  favourite  Calhoun  had  aspersed  him 
when  commanding  in  Florida,  and  the  choleric  President  at  once 
decided  on  his  'political  destruction.'  Three  of  Calhoun's 
friends.  Branch,  Ingham,  and  Berrien,  were  in  the  Cabinet,  and 
to  get  rid  of  them  it  was  arranged  that  the  Secretaries  of  State 
and  War,  Van  Buren  and  Eaton,  should  resign,  which  would  afford 
the  President  the  opportunity  to  make  a  new  Cabinet.  This  was 
done,  and  a  great  sensation  ensued.  The  newspapers  assigned 
a  thousand  and  one  reasons.  The  one  currently  believed  was 
this  :  It  was  alleged  that  the  families  of  the  Secretaries  of  the 
Treasury  and  the  Navy, and  the  Attorney-General,  Calhoun's  allies,, 
refused  to  receive  the  wife  of  General  Eaton,  Secretary  of  War, 
because  of  rumours  damaging  to  the  character  of  that  lady.  Her 
former  name  was  Mrs.  Timberlake,  and  she  had  kept  a  boarding- 
house  in  Washington,  where  General  Eaton  lodged.  He  finally 
married  her,  and  it  was  asserted  he  should  have  done  it  before. 
This  was  the  pretext  accepted  for  the  break  up  of  the  Cabinet ; 
but  the  real  object  was  to  banish  Calhoun's  friends  from  power. 
In  the  midst  of  the  hubbub  Van  Buren  slipped  off  to  England* 
where  he  was  appointed  Minister.  Eaton  was  made  Governor 
of  Florida. 

Such  was  the  state  of  things  when  I  arrived  in  Washington. 
Calhoun  was  foaming  with  rage,  and  vowed  vengeance  against  the 
Administration. 

It  was  .my  fortune  to  witness  the  first  blow  of  the  Vice- 
President's  battle-axe,  as  I  shall  relate.  I  put  up  at  Gadsby's, 


A  Profession.  29 


Hotel,  then  the  fashionable  resort.  The  next  day  I  went  to  the 
Capitol,  so  imposing  for  its  magnificent  site.  I  hurried  to  the 
senate  chamber,  to  contemplate  the  great  political  gladiators  of 
the  day  :  Clay,  with  his  tall  stately  form,  his  urbane  demeanour, 
and  courageous  eye,  indulging  ever  and  anon  in  a  pinch  of 
snuff  whilst  listening  to  a  member  of  the  Opposition  ;  Webster, 
with  his  broad  expanse  of  brow,  which  looked  like  the  very 
dome  of  thought,  his  tranquil  mien,  and  solid  figure  ;  Calhoun, 
erect,  slim,  stern  in  expression,  and  resolute  in  manner.  These 
were  the  athletes  of  the  Senate,  whose  utterances  filled  the 
newspapers  and  vibrated  through  the  Union. 

All  of  these  able  men  aspired  to  the  government  of  the 
country,  and  in  their  eagerness  to  clutch  it  they  had  all  abjured 
the  opinions  of  their  early  years.  Clay  opposed  the  first  United 
States  Bank  which  he  subsequently  supported.  Webster  resisted 
the  first  protective  tariff  he  later  advocated.  Calhoun  zealously 
defended  the  protective  policy  in  1816,  and  to  overthrow  it  after 
wards  he  made  ready  for  a  revolution.  Politicians  of  the  highest 
stamp  blunder,  like  other  men,  through  ignorance  or  ambition, 
and  their  mistakes  are  fatal. 

I  gazed  with  hardly  less  interest  on  the  minor  celebrities 
before  me  :  the  polished  Hayne  ;  the  graceful  Preston,  the  most 
Ciceronian  orator  of  the  Union  ;  the  stalwart  Benton,  the  hard 
money-man  of  his  day  ;  and  a  host  of  others.  I  would  have  given 
worlds  to  witness  one  of  those  grand  tournaments,  in  which  these 
doughty  knights  of  the  Senate,  armed  cap-d-pie  with  wit  and 
argument,  struggled  desperately  to  unhorse  each  other  amid  the 
ringing  cheers  of  the  country,  I  will  not  dwell  on  the  House  of 
Representatives  of  the  period,  scarcely  inferior  to  the  Senate  in 
talent  and  character. 

The  day  after  my  arrival  I  called  on  an  intimate  friend  of  the 
President,  to  whom  I  brought  letters,  and  desired  a  presentation. 
The  next  evening,  at  eight  o'clock,  was  named  for  the  ceremony. 
My  first  visit  to  the  White  House  filled  me  with  emotion.  It  had 
been  the  residence  of  all  our  Presidents  save  Washington,  who 
lived  in  Philadelphia,  then  the  Federal  capital.  We  were  shown 
into  the  Red  Room,  and  were  informed  the  President  was  still  at 
dinner  with  a  small  party.  This  gave  me  time  to  recover  my 
aplomb,  and  look  about  me.  It  was  a  lofty  well-proportioned 
apartment,  richly  furnished  in  damask  of  the  colour  which  desig 
nated  it 


30  A  Profession. 


It  was  not  long  before  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and 
General  Jackson  entered  at  the  head  of  his  company,  talking  and 
laughing  with  much  animation.  He  seemed  in  high  glee. 
Seating  himself  near  the  fire,  his  friends  formed  a  group  about 
him.  I  was  absorbed  for  some  minutes  in  scanning  the  face  and 
mien  of  this  remarkable  man.  In  person  he  was  tall,  slim,  and 
straight  as  an  arrow.  His  head  was  long,  but  narrow,  and 
covered  with  thick  gray  hair  that  stood  erect,  as  though  impreg 
nated  with  his  defiant  spirit  ;  his  brow  was  deeply  furrowed, 
and  his  eye,  even  in  his  present  mood,  was  one  'to  threaten  and 
command.'  His  nose  was  prominent,  and  indicated  force.  His 
mouth  displayed  firmness.  The  whole  conveyed  an  impression 
of  energy  and  daring.  My  gaze  was  fixed  upon  him,  and  I  for 
got  all  else.  My  friend  intimated  he  would  present  me  on  the 
first  opportunity,  and  the  announcement  threw  me  into  a  flutter. 

Presently  a  gentleman  hurriedly  entered  the  room,  went  up 
to  the  President,  and  whispered  in  his  ear.  In  a  moment  he 
sprang  from  his  chair,  his  eyes  flashing,  and  his  arms  flying 
wildly  about  him. 

'  By  the  Eternal,'  I  heard  him  exclaim,  '  I'll  smash  them  !'* 

Every  one  near  him  jumped  to  his  feet,  astounded  at  this 
sudden  explosion.  He  was  surrounded,  and  all  were  demanding 
what  had  occurred.  I  was  electrified  at  the  spectacle.  Like  a 
lion  goaded  to  fury,  he  kept  on  gesticulating,  and  denouncing 
some  outrage  he  would  not  brook.  At  length  I  was  told  that 
information  was  brought  him  that  the  Senate  had  rejected  Van 
Buren's  nomination  to  England,  and  he  regarded  this  as  a  per 
sonal  insult.  '  The  Opposition,  in  alliance  with  Calhoun's.  friends, 
had  thus  smitten  the  schemer,  whom  they  accused  of  breaking  up 
the  Cabinet  for  his  occult  purposes.  Open  war  was  now  declared 
between  Calhoun  and  Jackson.  The  grand  battle  came  off  a 
little  later.  It  was  suggested  by  my  friend  that  under  the  cir 
cumstances  my  introduction  had  better  be  postponed.  I  readily 
agreed,  having  no  fancy  to  approach  the  volcano  in  eruption.  I 
considered  myself  fortunate,  however,  in  having  seen  the  fiery 
hero  in  one  of  his  towering  passions.  What  a  contrast  to  his 
first  phase  ! 

I  may  here  mention  that  in  January  1832,  scarcely  a  month 
after  the  above  occurrence,  Mr.  Van  Buren  was  dining  in  London 
with  the  English  Foreign  Secretary,  when  a  messenger  brought 

*  His  habitual  exclamation  when  in  anger. 


A  Profession.  3  i 


him  a  despatch  marked  '  Urgent.'  Begging  permission  of  the 
company,  he  read  it,  and  smiling  pleasantly  he  said  to  his 
host,  'As  most  of  the  Cabinet  are  here,  and  we  are  over  our 
dessert,  if  you  will  allow  me,  I  will  read  you  the  latest  news.' 

The  surprise  of  the  company  was  only  equalled  by  their 
liilarity  when  he  read  them  the  official  announcement  of  his 
rejection  by  the  Senate.  One  of  the  guests  remarked,  '  Happy 
is  the  public  man'  who  is  the  victim  of  an  outrage.' 

Doubtless  the  astute  envoy  bowed  low  at  this  prophetic 
compliment,  foreseeing  that  *  the  -stone  which  the  builders 
rejected  would  become  the  head  of  the  corner.' 

The  society  of  Washington  at  this  period  was  elegant  and 
hospitable.  I  visited  some  of  the  fashionable  resorts,  but  the 
one  that  perhaps  impressed  me  the  most  was  '  Van  Ness  House,' 
as  it  was  familiarly  called.  Its  owner  was  General  Van  Ness, 
who  was  sent  to  Congress  from  New  York  towards  the  close  of 
Jefferson's  Presidency.  Not  long  after,  he  married  Miss  Burns, 
whose  father  was  one  of  the  three  persons  who  presented  to  the 
Government  the  land  known  as  the  district  of  Columbia.  The 
General,  on  retiring  from  Congress,  settled  down  in  Washington. 
Latrobe,  the  architect  of  the  Capitol,  built  him  a  noble  mansion, 
which  was  furnished  with  great  sumptuousness.  The  marble 
mantels  were  all  imported  from  Italy,  a  rare  thing  in  those  days. 
Van  Ness  House  was  frequented  by  the  Diplomatic  Corps,  the 
leading  members  of  Congress,  and  strangers  of  condition.  The 
host  was  genial  and  courtly,  with  a  pleasant  word  for  every  one. 
The  prestige  of  this  favourite  haunt  was  well  conveyed  by  a 
phrase  of  Miss  Jessie  Benton,  then  just  dawning  on  the  social 
horizon  of  Washington.  She  remarked  that  '  No  young  lady 
was  considered  in  society  till  she  had  taken  her  degree  at  Van 
Ness  House.'  One  of  the  brightest  ornaments  of  this  attractive 
circle  was  a  niece  of  the  General,  afterwards  Mrs.  Judge  Roose 
velt.  In  beauty,  grace,  and  vivacity  she  had  few  rivals. 

I  must  confess  that  the  appearance  of  Washington  contrasted 
ludicrously  with  what  my  fancy  had  painted  it.  Consisting 
chiefly  of  the  long,  broad,  unpaved  street  known  as  Pennsyl 
vania  Avenue,  occupied  by  straggling  houses*  of  mean  aspect, 
some  of  wood  and  some  of  brick,  with  cross-streets  of  immense 
width,  'dotted  here  and  there  with  houses  of  various  sizes  and 
styles,  it  literally  fulfilled  the  description  of  Randolph,  '  A  city 
of  magnificent  distances.'  The  public  buildings,  constructed  of 


32  A  Profession. 


brick,  with  no  pretensions  to  architecture,  and  of  insignificant 
proportions,  fell  far  short  of  my  inflated  expectations.  The 
White  House  was  much  the  most  imposing  edifice  of  the  soi- 
disant  city,  with  the  exception  of  the  Capitol.  That,  indeed,  owed 
more  to  its  site  than  its  own  merits. 

I  left  Washington  for  Alexandria,  on  my  way  to  Woodlawn, 
the  country  residence  of  the  venerable  Mrs.  Lewis,  formerly  known 
as  *  Nelly  Custis,'  the  adopted  daughter  of  the  first  President, 
who,  it  is  remembered,  married  the  widow  of  John  Parke  Custis. 
Her  son  by  the  first  marriage  left  two  children,  George  Washing 
ton  Parke  Custis,  and  Eleanor  (Nelly)  Parke  Custis,  who  were 
adopted  by  General  Washington,  and  inherited  the  greater  part 
of  his  property.*  Woodlawn  adjoined  the  Mount  Vernon 
estate,  and  was  the  gift  of  Washington.  It  was  a  wet  and 
dismal  afternoon  whe/n  I  drove  from  Alexandria  to  my  destina 
tion,  some  nine  miles  away,  and  the  roads  were  in  a  pitiable 
condition.  It  was  near  dark  when  I  arrived,  but  I  could  descry 
that  the  house  was  large  and  of  comparatively  modern  structure. 

I  was  cordially  welcomed  by  my  gracious  hostess,  who  was  a 
tall  stately  woman  of  mature  age,  with  the  imposing  manners  of 
a  grande  dame  of  the  olden  time.  Her  son,  who  resided  with 
her,  was  absent  on  business,  but  happily  his  young  wife  remained 
behind.  Mrs.  Lewis  junior  was  a  daughter  of  Dr.  John  Redman 
Coxe  of  Philadelphia,  and  sister  of  my  friend  and  classmate 
Alfred  Coxe.  She  was  an  exceedingly  lovely  woman  :  above 
medium  height,  magnificent  black  eyes  and  hair,  a  pale  com 
plexion,  and  an  exquisite  figure.  Her  beauty  was  set  off  by  her 
grace,  affability,  and  intelligence.  After  dinner  Mrs.  Lewis 
showed  me  various  relics  of  her  illustrious  grandsire — his  watch, 
silver  knee  and  shoe  buckles,  and  numerous  pieces  of  plate — all 
preserved  with  religious  care.  It  is  needless  to  say  I  contem 
plated  them  with  the  deepest  interest.  The  next  morning, 
accompanied  by  some  of  the  family,  I  walked  over  to  Mount 
Vernon  to  inspect  the  residence  of  Washington.  It  was  then 
unoccupied,  and  pretty  much  in  the  condition  he  had  left  it. 
The  furniture  was  of  an  old  English  pattern  long  disappeared, 

*  The  fine  estate  so  well  known  as  Arlington  was  thus  bestowed  in  Washing 
ton's  will  :  '  I  give  and  bequeath  to  George  Washington  Parke  Custis,  the  grandson 
of  my  wife,  and  my  ward,  and  to  his  heirs,  the  tract  I  hold  on  Four- mile  Rim,  in  the 
vicinity  of  Alexandria,  containing  one  thousand  two  hundred  acres  more  or  less.' 
This  extensive  domain  descended  to  his  only  daughter,  Mrs.  General  Robert  E.  Lee, 
and  was  sequestrated  by  the  Government  during  the  late  Rebellion. 


A  Profession.  33 


and  singularly  quaint  and  unpretending.  As  I  wandered  from 
room  to  room,  listening  to  anecdotes  of  the  great  man  who  once 
occupied  them,  I  experienced  emotions  it  would  be  difficult  to 
express.  From  the  house  we  repaired  in  silence  to  the  tomb, 
a  plain  brick  vault  of  the  most  ordinary  character  ;  its  very 
simplicity  was  impressive.  No  majestic  column,  no  monu 
mental  urn,  adorned  the  sepulchre  where  reposed  the  honoured 
remains  of  the  '  father  of  his  -xuntry.'  Neither  railing  or  wall 
enclosed  it.  As  I  stood  uncovered  before  this  consecrated 
shrine,  my  mind  was  filled  with  a  pious  reverence  never 
afterwards  evoked  by  all  the  *  pomp,  pride,  and  circumstance' 
that  surrounded  the  cenotaphs  of  kings  and  conquerors. 

'  We  all  confess  no  man  so  great,  so  wise, 
Hath  ever  risen,  or  shall  ever  rise.' 

I  returned  that  afternoon   to   Alexandria,   and   began    my 
journey  homewards. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

PHILADELPHIA. 

A  NOVELTY — A  GRIM  SPECTRE— FANNY   KEMBLE — A  DESPERATE  POLITICIAN,  El'C. 

IT  was  no  easy  matter,  I  found,  after  my'  exciting  trip  to 
Washington,  to  settle  down  again  to  the  dry  perusal  of  law  ;  but 
after  arr  effort  I  resumed  my  studious  habits,  and  plunged 
boldly  into  the  mysteries  of  '  Contingent  Remainders/  The  only 
diversion  I  allowed  myself  was  the  theatre,  which  was  always  a 
solace  and  a  delight.  The  sensation  of  the  winter  of  1832,  I 
remember,  was  the  advent  of  Italian  opera.  What  it  exactly 
meant  none  but  travelled  Americans — and  their  numbers  were 
limited — had  any  correct  idea.  It  was  a  bold  venture  to  transfer 
to  our  uncongenial  soil  of  that  day  a  musical  exotic  of  such  an 
artificial  growth,  and  whose  fragrance  could  only  be  enjoyed  by 
those  who  had  acquired  a  fondness  for  it.  It  was  long  years 
before  this  Italian  product  took  root  in  France  and  England, 
where  music  was,  of  course,  more  widely  cultivated.  Some 
enthusiast  beyond  the  Alps — I  think  it  was  Antonio  Bajioli,  the 
maestro — having  discovered  there  was  a  world  over  the  sea  where 
Italian  opera  was  unknown,  believed  his  fortune  certain  if 
he  could  manage  to  introduce  it  there.  After  laborious  efforts 
he  collected  a  troupe,  and  started  for  his  El  Dorado.  They 
appeared  in  New  York,  where  there  was  a  large  foreign  element 
to  greet  them,  and  thence  in  due  course  pitched  their  camp  in 
sober  unsophisticated  Philadelphia.  As  a  measure  of  precaution, 
it  was  deemed  judicious  to  open  a  subscription  for  a  limited 
number  of  performances.  The  fashionable  dilettanti  led  the  way, 
and  many  of  the  curious  followed.  The  first  night  came,  and 
the  house  was  crowded.  Everybody  was  on  the  qui  vive  for 
something  wholly  novel,  exciting,  delightful.  The  opera  was 
Elisa  e  Claudio.  The  artists  were  really  admirable.  Signora 
Pedrotti  was  the  prima  donna  ;  Montresor  and  Fornasari  were 
the  tenore  and  basso.  I  forget  the  baritone.  The  music  was 


Philadelphia.  35 


expressive  and  full  of  melody,  and  the  situations  afforded  scope 
for  effective  acting.  Pedrotti  impressed  me  as  a  great  lyric 
actress.  The  only  thing  that  struck  me  as  a  disagreeable 
novelty  was  the  recitative,  which  was  neither  singing  or  talking. 
It  was  amusing  to  note  the  effect  on  the  audience.  At  the  end 
of  the  first  act  people  glanced  at  each  other,  afraid  to  divulge 
their  impressions.  Some  looked  grave,  others  perplexed,  and  not 
a  few  struggled  to  conceal  symptoms  of  weariness.  '  Is  this 
Italian  opera?'  said  one.  'Why,  I  have  heard  these  airs  before/ 
''What  is  it  all  about,  I  wonder?'  ventured  to  inquire  another  \ 
for  the  libretto  was  not  published  in  English,  as  nowadays.  A  few 
of  the  more  audacious  set  fashion  at  defiance,  boldly  declaring 
'  It  was  a  bore/  and  would  gladly  have  sold  their  subscriptions 
at  half-price.  The  majority,  more  forbearing,  remarked  mildly  r 
'  It  might  be  pleasant  after  you  get  used  to  it/  and  displayed  a 
patient  resolve  to  '  worry  it'  out.  After  the  first  performance  the 
pit  and  gallery  vanished,  frankly  admitting  the  fun  was  beyond 
their  comprehension.  They  echoed  the  sentiments  of  the 
unassuming  man  of  Horace  : 

'  Thank  Heaven,  that  formed  me  of  an  humble  kind ; 
No  wit,  nor  yet  to  music  much  inclined.' 

The  subscribers  were  finally  abandoned  to  their  operatic 
immolation,  and,  without  meaning  to  libel  them,  I  often  suspected 
that  a  hornpipe  occasionally  danced  between  the  acts  would 
have  been  found  quite  refreshing.* 

The  summer  of  1832  was  memorable  for  the  appearance  of 
cholera  on  the  American  continent.  When,  in  the  previous  year, 
it  entered  Europe  from  Asia,  the  Transatlantic  pulse  quickened  a 
little,  but  the  improbability  of  its  ever  crossing  the  broad 
Atlantic  calmed  any  momentary  alarm.  The  startling  an 
nouncement,  early  in  the  spring,  that  it  had  really  broken  out  in 
Canada,  threw  everybody  into  a  cold  sweat.  It  was  still  hoped  , 
that  it  might  not  spread,  but  soon  the  ghastly  phantom  began 
its  funeral  march.  With  slow  but  steady  step  it  advanced  from 
town  to  town,  and  when  it  seized  upon  New  York,  our  usually 
placid  city  fell  into  paroxysms  of  apprehension.  If  the  last 

*  Since  1832  the  taste  for  this  refined  amusement  has  developed  rapidly,  and  the 
money  spent  on  it  probably  exceeds  that  on  any  other  entertainment ;  whilst  the 
audiences  have  swelled  far  beyond  the  mere  votaries  of  fashion.  Only  twenty-three 
years  after  its  introduction,  in  the  spring  of  1855,  on  the  first  night  of  the  opera  of 
William  Tell,  at  the  New  York  Academy  of  Music,  an  audience  of  three  thousand 
assembled,  and  it  was  necessary  to  close  the  doors  to  exclude  the  concourse  without. 


3  6  Ph  tladelph  ia . 

trump  had  suddenly  vibrated  over  our  heads,  the  terror  could 
hardly  have  been  greater.  Sanitary  precautions  of  every 
imaginable  kind  were  suggested  ;  hospitals  were  improvised  in 
every  direction.  Doctors  assembled  in  conference,  utterly 
bewildered  by  the  mysterious  nature  of  the  disease.  Agitation 
was  universal.  Some  began  making  their  wills  ;  others  packed 
up  and  fled  to  the  mountains.  In  short,  everything  was  thought 
of  but  the  wisdom  of  meeting  the  hideous  spectre  with  intrepid 
composure.  For  my  part,  I  clung  to  the  comforting  theory 
that  panic  made  more  victims  than  the  disease  itself,  and  I  was 
disposed  to  stand  my  ground.  My  guardian,  however,  was 
absent,  and  his  family  took  fright,  and  resolved  to  retreat  to 
their  country  seat,  some  twenty  miles  distant.  I  was  obliged  to 
act  as  their  escort,  and  so  escaped  a  personal  encounter  with 
the  fell  destroyer,  which  soon  came,  gleaned  its  harvest  of 
death,  and  stalked  onwards,  till  the  whole  country  was  embraced 
in  its  ravages. 

The  autumn  brought  the  fugitives  back  from  their  hiding- 
places,  ready  to  exclaim  with  Macbeth,  *  Why,  being  gone,  I  am 
a  man  again/ 

The  town  resumed  its  ordinary  tranquil  aspect  until  a  new 
emotion  began  to  stir  it,  but  this  time  of  a  far  more  pleasing 
character.  Two  members  of  the  renowned  Kemble  family — 
Charles  and  his  daughter  Fanny — arrived  in  New  York  in 
August  1832,  and  a  strong  theatrical  commotion  at  once  broke 
out.  Charles  Kemble  was  no  longer  in  his  zenith,  but  he  still 
enjoyed  the  reputation  of  the  most  finished  comedian  of  his  day. 
Public  attention,  however,  was  chiefly  concentrated  on  his 
daughter.  She  was  only  twenty-one,  and  during  her  brief  stage 
career  of  three  years  she  had  eclipsed  every  actress  on  the 
London  boards.  She  proved  herself  worthy  of  the  great  fame 
she  had  inherited  from  her  illustrious  aunt  Mrs.  Siddons,  and 
her  uncle  John  Kemble.  Besides,  she  had  already  distinguished 
herself  in  literature,  having,  at  the  precocious  age  of  seventeen, 
written  a  tragedy,  Francis  /.,  universally  extolled.  The  en 
gagement  in  New  York  was  an  immense  success,  and  the 
constant  reports  in  our  papers  raised  the  excitement  to  boiling- 
point. 

At  length  they  came.  On  the  first  night  Charles  Kemble 
appeared  alone  in  Hamlet.  He  was  still  a  fine-looking  man,  of 
mature  age.  His  carriage  was  easy  and  graceful,  and  his  per- 


Philadelphia.  37 


formance  revealed  a  consummate  artist.  There  was  nothing, 
however,  original  in  his  conception,  and  his  physique  was  some 
what  too  portly  for  the  philosophic  Dane,  as  fancy  painted 
him. 

The  following  night  the  theatre  was  crowded  to  suffocation 
to  witness  the  debut  of  Fanny  as  Bianca  in  Milman's  tragedy 
of  Fazio.  Her  first  appearance  impressed  and  delighted  the 
house :  above  medium  height,  a  symmetrical  figure,  an  expres 
sive  countenance,  flashing  dark  eyes,  with  luxurious  hair  to 
match.  All  these  were  taken  in  at  a  glance.  When  she  spoke, 
her  rich  resonant  voice  captivated  every  ear.  Her  bearing 
and  attitudes  were  so  natural  and  striking,  and  withal  distingue  > 
that  the  audience  was  half  won  before  she  had  essayed  to  act 

1  Grace  was  in  all  her  steps,  heaven  in  her  eye, 
In  every  gesture  dignity  and  love.' 

But  when  she  rose  with  the  action  of  the  play,  and  began  to 
display  her  power — when  she  gave  to  the  fierce  passions  of  the 
rdle  the  agonised  utterances  of  the  half-maddened  wife — the  spec 
tators  were  transported  with  enthusiasm,  and  wept  and  applauded 
wildly  by  turns.  That  single  performance  stamped  Fanny 
Kemble  in  my  mind  as  the  greatest  of  living  actresses,  and  it 
has  never  been  effaced  from  my  recollection. 

Perhaps  her  greatest  triumph  was  achieved  in  Julia  in  the 
Hunchback  of  Sheridan  Knowles.  This  exquisite  comedy  I 
regarded  as  one  of  the  rarest  contributions  to  the  dramatic 
literature  of  our  times.  Its  merits  are  transcendent.  The  plot 
is  ingenious  and  touching  ;  the  characters  natural ;  the  situations 
effective  ;  and  above  all,  the  language  felicitous  and  high  wrought. 
The  wonder  is  that  any  but  Shakespeare  could  have  written  it. 
Fanny  Kemble's  personation  of  the  leading  role  was  the  very 
acme  of  histrionic  art.  The  proud  love-tossed  maiden,  frenzied 
by  anger,  and  rushing  on  self-immolation  ;  then  recoiling  in 
terror  from  the  abyss,  and  confessing  in  sheer  despair  her  un 
controllable  passion  for  the  man  who  had  slighted  her, — all  this 
was  so  vividly  portrayed  in  action,  look,  and  accent,  as  to  move 
every  heart,  and  elicit  the  profoundest  admiration. 

The  town  went  Kemble  mad,  and  the  affecting  phrases  of 
the  idolised  Julia  were  repeated  at  every  corner.  As  for  my 
self,  it  would  be  hard  to  depict  the  wild  intoxication  that  over 
took  me.  I  forgot  everything  else,  law  included.  I  did  nothing 


38  Philadelphia. 


but  frequent  the  theatre,  and  abandon  myself  to  the  fascination 
of  this  bewitching  actress.  I  went  about  like  one  possessed, 
muttering  the  favourite  passages  of  her  principal  roles,  till 
people  thought  me  a  fit  companion  for  .  lunatics.  I  was  not, 
however,  her  only  victim.  The  infection  seized  on  a  friend  of 
mine,  which  took  the  practical  shape  of  a  tender  of  marriage, 
that  after  a  time  was  accepted.  Pierce  Butler,  a  man  of  good 
family  and  fortune,  became  desperately  enamoured  of  the  mar 
vellous  creature,  who,  to  her  sorcery  on  the  stage,  added  rare 
charms  of  person,  brilliant  accomplishments,  and  high  culture. 
He  carried  off  the  splendid  prize  ;  and  in  spite  of  the  warning  of 
the  poet,  that 

'  The  man  who  envies  must  behold  with  pain 
Another's  joys,  and  sicken  at  his  gain,' 

yet  Pierce  Butler  was  envied,  and  almost  detested,  by  a  swarm 
of  rivals  for  his  victory  over  the  last  of  the  Kembles. 

The  autumn  of  1832  witnessed  the  reelection  of  General 
Jackson. 

The  political  manoeuvring  of  Van  Buren  was  successful,  and 
the  luckless  Calhoun  was  thrown  aside  for  his  more  adroit  adver 
sary.  To  bring  this  about,  a  new  machine  was  devised  called 
a  '  National  Convention,'  that  assembled  in  Baltimore,  May 
1832,  composed  of  delegates  from  all  the  States,  and  it  named 
Martin  Van  Buren  as  the  choice  of  the  Democratic  party  for  the 
Vice- Presidency.  Previous  to  this,  the  candidates  for  Presi 
dent  and  Vice-President  had  been  selected  in  Congressional 
caucus. 

It  was  hardly  to  be  expected  that  the  ostracised  Calhoun, 
the  victim,  as  he  declared  himself,  of  an  '  odious  political  con 
spiracy/  would  calmly  submit  to  machinations  that  cut  him  off 
from  the  Presidential  chair  almost  within  his  reach.  He  did  not, 
but  forthwith  set  to  work  to  involve  the  second  Administration 
of  General  Jackson  in  confusion.  In  his  blind  rage  he  dis 
dained  to  calculate  consequences,  and  was  ready,  like  Samson  of 
old,  to  pull  down  the  pillars  of  the  temple  in  which  he  could 
no  longer  hope  to  be  enthroned.  Wielding  absolute  influence 
over  South  Carolina,  which  he  represented  in  the  U.S.  Senate, 
he  stirred  up  a  bitter  hostility  to  the  tariff-laws  of  1828.  He 
declared  them  to  be  oppressive  and  unconstitutional,  and  that 
the  Southern  States,  which  were  especially  aggrieved,  had  a 
right  to  *  nullify'  them.  He  denounced  the  iniquity  of  collecting 


Philadelph  ia.  3  9 

a  revenue  so  far  beyond  the  public  expenditure  as  to  glut  the 
Treasury. 

He  had  formerly  entertained  different  views  when  aiming  at 
the  Presidency,  but  now  he  was  bent  on  becoming  the  head  of 
a  Southern  Confederacy,  on  the  maxim,  no  doubt,  that  *  half  a 
loaf  is  better  than  none.' 

His  revolutionary  principles  were  adopted  in  South  Carolina, 
and  '  nullification'  became  the  order  of  the  day.  The  Governor 
called  a  Convention.  The  Federal  Government  was  defied, 
and  the  people  of  the  State  were  enrolled  and  armed.  The 
1st  February  1833  was  named  as  the  day  when  South  Caro 
lina  would  proclaim  her  independence  of  the  Union,  and  set  up 
for  herself.  The  country  was  thrown  into  violent  agitation,  and 
all  were  perplexed  with  fears  of  the  result.  The  only  one  who 
seemed  to  enjoy  the  situation  was  the  seasoned  warrior  who 
occupied  the  White  House.  If  Andrew  Jackson  loved  anything 
more  than  another,  it  was  a  combat,  and  whether  it  was  at  the 
head  of  an  army  or  at  the  head  of  a  street,  was  all  the 
same  to  him.  The  threatened  collision  exhilarated  him  to  the 
utmost,  especially  as  he  had  the  law  on  his  side,  which  had 
not  always  been  the  case.  He  addressed  a  stirring  proclamation 
to  the  country,  called  on  Congress  for  additional  powers,  and 
made  his  military  preparations  for  the  emergency. 

4  Things  will  yet  go  right,  Mr.  President,'  said  one  of  his 
friends. 

'  By  the  Eternal,'  he  replied,  with  vehemence,  '  they  shall  go 
right !' 

The  resolute  Jackson  made  no  concealment  of  his  intentions. 
He  declared  that  on  the  first  overt  act  of  rebellion  he  would  arrest 
all  the  members  of  South  Carolina  in  Congress,  try  them  by 
court-martial,  and  hang  them  in  twenty-four  hours.  It  would 
not  have  been  the  first  time  he  had  disposed  of  his  foes  in  that 
summary  fashion*.  The  Southern  States  did  not  espouse  the 
quarrel  of  South  Carolina,  but  held  aloof.  Calhoun  did  not  an 
ticipate  such  apathy,  and  was  embarrassed.  The  critical  day 
was  approaching,  when  Henry  Clay  stepped  forward  as  media 
tor,  and  proposed  a  modification  of  the  tariff,  to  take  effect  at 
the  end  of  1833,  with  further  reductions  in  succeeding  years. 
South  Carolina  gladly  accepted  the  compromise,  and  a  Bill  to 
that  end  passed  Congress.  The  only  disappointed  man  in  the 
country  was  the  rampant  Jackson,  who  was  cheated  out  of  his 


40  Philadelphia. 


fight  He  was  more  lucky  on  a  later  occasion.  As  for  poor 
Calhoun,  he  lost  not  only  his  revenge,  but  his  political  future. 
'Nullification'  was  his  winding-sheet.  To  avenge  his  private 
wrongs,  he  essayed  to  plunge  the  country  into  civil  war.  Sad  to 
see  a  man  of  his  eminence,  the  first  logician  in  the  land,  of  rare 
training  and  irreproachable  character — sad,  I  say,  to  see  such  a 
man 

'narrow  his  mind, 
And  to  Party  give  up  what  was  meant  for  mankind.' 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  TRIP  TO  THE  SOUTH. 

A  PLEASANT  PARTY — A  MURDER— LOST  IN  THE  WOODS — DEFYING  CHOLERA,  ETC. 

IN  the  spring  of  1833  I  decided  on  a  run  through  the  Southern 
States.  I  was  curious  to  see  something  of  life  at  the  South,  and 
to  judge  for  myself  of  its  distinctive  features,  which  were  repre 
sented  to  be  wholly  unlike  anything  to  be  found  at  the  North. 
I  had  no  prejudice  against  the  '  peculiar  institution/  as  slavery 
was  then  nicknamed  ;  still  less  a  dislike  for  the  Southern  people, 
whose  somewhat  haughty  bearing  when  they  came  among  us 
aroused  no  little  ill  feeling.  The  planters  of  the  South  were 
undoubtedly  a  caste  that  had  no  counterpart  at  the  North.  The 
owners  of  large  estates,  tilled  by  negro  slaves,  who  looked  up  to 
them  with  the  awe  felt  by  the  villeins  of  the  Middle  Ages  for 
their  feudal  masters,  and  regarded  likewise  with  profound 
deference  by  the  middle-class  whites,  who  were  impressed  by 
their  wealth  and  political  power,  it  is  no  wonder  they  were  some 
what  inflated,  and  looked  down  rather  disdainfully  on  the  pro 
fessional  and  mercantile  classes  of  the  North.  This  social 
antagonism  existed  before  the  Revolution,  when  both  sections 
met  and  fought  shoulder  to  shoulder  against  the  mother 
country  ;  but  it  revived  at  its  close,  and  continued  as  strong 
in  1833  as  at  any  previous  date.  For  my  part,  I  had  a  bias 
for  the  South,  based  likely  on  my  college  friendships,  and  I 
always  found  my  fellow-students  from  that  section  high-toned 
and  genial. 

In  early  April  I  set  out  for  New  York,  where  I  proposed 
embarking  for  Charleston. 

It  was  on  this  occasion  I  made  acquaintance  with  the  first 
railroad,  I  believe,  in  the  United  States,  running  from  Borden- 
town  to  Amboy.  Locomotives  were  not  yet  introduced,  and 
the  train  was  drawn  by  horses  at  the  rate  of  ten  miles  the  hour. 
The  transition  from  rough  roads  and  the  jolting  stage-coach  to 
this  smooth  and  rapid  travelling  was  indescribably  pleasant,  and 
I  fervently  blessed  the  man  who  invented  it. 


42  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

I  was  especially  tempted  to  New  York  by  the  advertisement 
of  a  steamer  bound  on  its  first  trip  to  Charleston  ;  but  on  inspect 
ing  the  '  David  Brown/  I  was  struck  by  her  fragile  appearance, 
and  concluded  she  was  not  at  all  likely  to  escape  unscathed  from 
the  rough  embrace  of  an  Atlantic  wave.  I  was  looking  about 
me  for  a  safer  conveyance,  when  I  heard  to  my  delight  that 
quite  a  distinguished  party,  some  of  whom  I  knew,  were  just 
starting  on  an  excursion  to  Charleston,  and  meant  to  convert 
one  of  the  fine  packets  of  the  Havre  line  into  a  yacht  for  that 
purpose.  I  was  kindly  invited  to  join  the  party ;  and  on  a 
bright  April  morning  I  embarked  in  high  spirits  on  board  the 
good  ship  *  Francis  I.'  Before  I  reached  the  ( Narrows'  I  was 
quite  at  home  with  my  fellow-passengers,  consisting  of  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Mortimer  Livingston,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Washington  Coster, 
and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  William  Laight.  Mr.  Maturin  Livingston, 
father  of  Mortimer,  was  the  doyen  of  the  company,  and  a  most 
amiable  person  he  proved.  Mrs.  Livingston  and  Mrs.  Coster 
were  the  daughters  of  Mr.  Depau,  who  married  the  daughter  of 
Count  de  Grasse,  the  gallant  commander  of  the  French  squad 
ron  during  the  revolutionary  war.  Our  cruise  began  auspici 
ously.  The  weather  was  lovely  and  the  wind  favourable,  and  I 
hastily  concluded  that  a  sea-voyage  was  the  poetry  of  travel.  The 
gentlemen  played  cards  daily  for  some  hours,  and  I  was  induced 
reluctantly  to  take  a  hand.  The  game  was  '  brag,'  and  betting 
ran  high.  I  had  never  gambled  before,  and  underwent  intense 
excitement  with  the  ebb  and  flow  of  luck.  I  took  an  aversion 
to  it,  as  I  did  not  like  wasting  so  much  emotion  ofi  a  card. 

I  appreciated  far  more  the  tranquil  delight  of  chatting  with 
the  ladies.  They  had  all  made  the  tour  of  Europe,  and  I 
hung  spellbound  on  their  descriptions  of  balls  at  Court,  visits  to 
famous  picture-galleries,  and  conversations  with  remarkable 
people.  Quite  unawares,  my  head  was  nearly  turned  with  Mrs. 
Coster,  and  no  wonder.  She  was  the  most  magnificent  creature 
possible  to  imagine  :  just  twenty-two,  tall,  with  a  splendid  bust 
and  figure,  a  profusion  of  brown  hair,  and  dark-blue  eyes  with 
a  magnetic  power  difficult  to  withstand.  Her  sister  was  no  less 
handsome,  but  of  a  different  type  :  black  hair  and  sparkling  eyes, 
with  great  vivacity  of  mind  and  manner,  blended  with  elegance 
and  refinement.  The  husband  of  the  former  inherited  a  large 
fortune,  and  cared  little  how  he  spent  it.  He  was  amiable,  but 
nonchalant  to  a  degree.  His  brother-in-law,  on  the  contrary, 


A  Trip  to  the  South.  43 

was  energetic  and  intelligent,  and,  as  part-owner  of  the  New 
York  line  of  packet-ships  to  Havre,  he  was  already  immersed  in 
the  cares  of  a  mercantile  career.  I  found  my  life  on  board  so 
agreeable,  that  I  only  regretted  we  were  not  bound  to  China. 

It  was  our  third  day  out,  and  I  was  sitting  after  breakfast, 
listening  to  the  charming  prattle  of  the  ladies,  who  were  busy 
with  their  embroidery,  when  I  was  suddenly  startled  by  the 
hoarse  tones  of  the  captain's  trumpet,  who  ordered  every  man 
aloft,  and  all  sail  down.  A  squall  had  struck .  us  off  Cape 
Hatteras.  The  blue  sky  was  covered  in  an  instant  with  threat 
ening  clouds.  The  lightning  flashed  and  the  thunder  roared. 
The  sea  rose  as  if  possessed  by  fiends,  and  lashed  the  sides  of 
our  gallant  craft,  which  tossed  and  pitched  as  though  struggling 
for  life.  Everything  movable  flew  wildly  about  the  deck.  The 
sails  flapped  fiercely,  the  cordage  shrieked  under  the  blast,  the 
masts  strained  and  creaked,  the  sailors  bellowed,  and  the  horrid 
din  of  the  captain's  trumpet  only  added  to  the  confusion.  Hold 
ing  by  a  rope,  I  gazed  with  wonder  and  alarm  on  this  por 
tentous  scene,  and  supposed  we  were  in  imminent  danger  of 
going  to  the  bottom.  This  was  my  first  venture  at  sea,  and  I 
knew  nothing  of  its  startling  caprices.  This  magical  transition 
from  the  serenity  that  had  prevailed  to  the  fearful  uproar  that 
surrounded  me  was  enough  to  make  a  landsman's  hair  stand  on 
end,  and  that  I  was  not  utterly  'frightened  from  my  propriety'  was 
due  to  the  quiet  behaviour  of  the  ladies,  who  had  become  accus 
tomed  to  the  mad  pranks  of  the  Atlantic.  After  a  time  the 
hubbub  subsided,  and  left  us  scudding  before  a  rattling  breeze, 
happily  in  the  right  direction.  We  spent  three  days  more  on 
shipboard,  but  I  was  never  the  same  man  again.  I  had  aban 
doned  myself  to  the  intoxication  of  *  life  on  the  ocean  wave,' 
never  dreaming  of  the  treachery  that  lurked  in  its  depths.  I 
do  not  :know  what  impression  the  first  squall  may  have  made  on 
others,  but  I  confess  it  impaired  my  confidence  in  the  stability 
of  Neptune's  dominion. 

It  was  hot  as  a  morning  in  summer  when  we  sailed  into 
Charleston  harbour,  and  to  my  delight  our  charming  party 
remained  intact,  as  we  all  found  accommodation  in  the  same 
hotel.  The  sudden  advent  of  a  bevy  of  fashionables  from  New 
York  made  quite  a  stir  in  the  aristocratic  world  of  Charleston, 
and  a  round  of  festivities  was  inaugurated  in  their  honour.  I 
was  quite  enchanted  with  the  town,  which  had  something  of  a 


44  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

tropical  aspect  in  my  eyes.  The  sandy  and  unpaved  streets  ; 
the  houses  with  verandahs  ;  the  luxurious  foliage  and  gorgeous 
flowers  ;  the  hot  sun  in  early  spring  ;  and  above  all,  the  crowds 
of  indolent  negroes  lounging  about  the  corners,  had  a  novel 
effect,  and  made  me  fancy  I  had  strayed  into  one  of  the  islands 
of  the  West  Indies.  I  took  a  liking  to  the  blacks,  who 
were  good-natured  and  cheerful,  and  much  attached  to  their 
masters.  I  was  not  a  little  shocked  at  the  familiar  association 
of  white  and  •  black,  as  no  such  thing  then  existed  at  the 
North.  Nothing  could  be  more  captivating  than  the  genial  kind 
ness  of  the  best  families.  Their  hospitalities  were  lavish  but 
unostentatious,  and  their  manners  were  affable  and  unpretend 
ing.  I  was  especially  struck  by  the  quiet  toilettes  of  the  ladies, 
who  seemed  utterly  indifferent  to  garish  display. 

I  could  hardly  believe  at  times  that  I  was  inhabiting  the 
head-quarters  of  'nullification,'  and  living  on  pleasant  terms 
with  people  who  only  a  few  months  previously  were  decorated 
with  Palmetto  cockades,  and  brandished  their  swords  in  proud 
defiance  of  the  Federal  Government  Whether  from  shame,  or 
more  likely  from  fear  of  wounding  Northern  susceptibilities,  the 
subject  was  never  alluded  to.  The  fever  had  quite  disappeared. 

The  warm  sun  of  Charleston  reminded  me  what  I  might 
expect  still  further  South  if  I  prolonged  my  stay,  and  my  com- 
pagnon  de  voyage  was  similarly  impressed.  I  was  travelling  with 
my  former  classmate  at  Yale,  Alpheus  S.  Williams.*  We  were 
friends  at  the  university,  had  adopted  the  same  profession  (which 
neither  of  us  ever  followed),  and  had  an  equal  desire  to  see  the 
world.  He  was  amiable,  intelligent,  and  free  from  all  vice.  I 
felt  the  liveliest  regret  at  bidding  adieu  to  my  New  York  friends, 
but  was  consoled  at  the  prospect  of  meeting  them  again  the 
ensuing  summer. 

I  left  Charleston  by  the  inland  route  for  Savannah.  Our 
little  steamer  wound  its  devious  way  through  narrow  streams 
that  could  hardly  be  dignified  by  the  name  of  rivers.  There 
was  nothing  to  break  the  monotony  of  the  route,  save  here  and 
there  the  novel  sight  of  an  alligator  basking  in  the  sun  on  the 
muddy  banks,  wholly  indifferent  to  our  presence.  Governor 
Hamilton  was  on  board,  on  his  way  to  his  plantation,  where  we 

*  Some  years  later  he  took  to  journalism  in  Michigan  ;  then  accepted  a  command 
in  the  Mexican  war  ;  and  afterwards  headed  a  division  in  the  recent  Rebellion.  He  waa 
ultimately  sent  as  Minister  to  San  Salvador,  and  elected  to  Congress  on  his  return. 


A  Trip  to  the  South.  45 

dropped  him.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  with  rather  lofty  man 
ners,  and  not  disposed  to  conversation.  I  fancied  that  the  spirit 
of  nullification  had  not  utterly  deserted  him.  I  found  Savannah 
a  very  pretty  place,  but  feared  to  loiter  longer  than  a  day,  and 
pushed  on  by  steamer  to  Augusta.  Here  the  serious  part  of  the 
journey  began,  for  our  route  lay  across  the  State  by  stage-coach 
to  the  border  town  of  Columbus.  I  dreaded  the  job,  and  not 
without  reason.  This  tedious  trip  of  three  days  was  relieved  but 
by  a  single  incident.  At  breakfast  one  morning  I  encountered 
the  brilliant  Senator  from  Georgia,  Mr.  Forsyth,  unfortunately 
bound  in  the  opposite  direction.  I  fain  would  have  lingered 
for  a  conversation  with  him,  but  our  impatient  Jehu  gave  but 
short  shrift  to  hungry  travellers.  This  distinguished  man,  then 
in  the  zenith  of  his  reputation,  was  the  leading  champion  of 
Jackson's  Administration  in  the  Senate.  Against  the  daily 
assaults  of  the  most  powerful  Opposition  ever  assembled  there,  he 
exhibited  such  courage,  courtesy,  and  rare  capacity  as  to  extort 
the  admiration  of  his  adversaries.  He  was  remarkable  for  his 
equanimity  of  temper,  and  often  related  an  anecdote  in  proof 
of  its  efficacy  in  politics.  On  one  occasion,  he  said,  he  was 
violently  assailed  in  some  opposition  journal,  and  the  accusations 
were  so  utterly  groundless  that  his  friends  insisted  on  his  prose 
cuting  for  libel. 

'And  what  do  you  suppose  was  the  result?'  he  asked, 
smiling.  '  Why,  my  calumniator  actually  proved  his  charges  !' 

I  arrived  at  Columbus,  the  border  town  of  Georgia,  quite 
fagged  out  with  three  days  and  nights  of  rough  travel,  and 
gladly  rested  for  a  day.  This  place  had  an  evil  repute,  and 
stories  of  its  lawlessness  were  widespread.  It  was  only  sepa 
rated  by  a  river  from  the  *  Creek'  country — a  portion  of  Alabama 
then  occupied  by  the  Indians  of  that  name  ;  and  criminals  had 
merely  to  escape  over  it  to  set  justice  at  defiance.  I  was  stroll 
ing  about  on  Sunday,  the  day  after  my  arrival,  when  I  heard  a 
pistol-shot,  and,  running  in  the  direction  of  the  sound,  found  a 
man  lying  on  the  ground  writhing  in  pain.  Others  soon  came 
up,  and  he  was  removed  into  an  adjoining  house.  A  ball  had 
pierced  his  abdomen,  and  he  had  also  received  several  stabs  from 
a  dirk.  I  assisted  in  plastering  up  his  wounds  ;  but  the  poor 
fellow  succumbed  in  a  few  hours.  Jealousy  was  the  alleged 
cause  of  the  murder,  and  the  suspected  lady  was  standing  in 
the  street  when  I  passed  out,  assuring  her  neighbours  that 


46  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

*  Jemmy  Dick  was  as  innocent  as  the  child  unborn/  The 
enraged  husband,  quite  satisfied  with  his  exploit,  walked  un 
molested  to  the  river,  and  rowed  himself  over  to  '  Sodom/  as 
the  village  opposite  was  ominously  named.  This  shocking  event 
attracted  very  little  notice  in  Columbus,  as  brawls  and  assassin 
ations  were  of  frequent  occurrence. 

Our  journey  was  to  recommence  at  midnight,  as  the  United 
States  mail  was  expected  about  that  hour,  and  this  was  the 
only  means  of  reaching;  our  next  terminus  —  Montgomery, 
Alabama.  The  road  to  it  ran  through  a  dense  forest  of  bound 
less  extent,  occupied  solely  by  Indians,  who  had  not  yet  been 
removed  from  the  State. 

A  heated  discussion  on  this  topic  had  been  going  on  for 
some  time  in  Congress.  Alabama  threatened  to  extend  her 
jurisdiction  over  the  Creek  tribe,  if  the  Federal  Government 
delayed  any  longer  to  remove  them  beyond  the  Mississippi. 

The  prospect  of  contemplating  the  '  untutored  savage'  in  his 
primeval  haunts  quite  elated  me,  but  I  little  anticipated  the 
drawbacks  that  would  attend  it.  The  United  States  mail 
arrived  during  the  night,  and  when  I  was  summoned  to  take  my 
place,  what  was  my  dismay  to  discover  that  our  conveyance  was 
simply  a  common  wagon  of  the  country  on  four  wheels,  and 
without  springs  or  covering  !  It  was  nearly  filled  with  mail- 
bags,  and  it  was  no  easy  matter  to  find  room  for  our  luggage. 

*  But  where  are  we  to  sit  ?'  I  asked,  in  wonder. 

1  Well,  I  reckon,'  replied  the  driver,  '  you  had  better  sit  on 
your  baggage,  unless  you  prefer  a  mail-bag.' 

As  there  was  no  alternative,  Williams  and  I  adopted  the 
suggestion.  There  was  a  third  passenger,  a  thin  hungry-looking 
Dutchman  bound  South.  We  crossed  the  river  in  a  flat  boat, 
drove  through  the  sleeping  den  of '  Sodom,'  and  then  plunged 
into  the  forest,  hoping  to  reach  Fort  Mitchel,  some  ten  miles 
away,  in  two  or  three  hours.  We  were  each  of  us  armed  with  a 
blazing  pine  torch,  to  enable  the  driver  to  see  his  way,  and  as  a 
protection  against  any  hungry  wolf  or  stray  bear  in  search  of  a 
supper.  Our  horses,  four  in  number,  seemed  excited  by  the 
strange  noises  of  beasts  and  night-birds,  that  kept  up  a  startling 
chorus,  and  the  driver  evidently  had  his  hands  full. 

The  road  was  well  supplied  with  ditches  and  stumps  of  trees, 
and  it  was  only  by  main  force  we  managed  to  keep  our  seats. 
We  remonstrated  loudly  at  the  tremendous  strain  on  our  muscles, 


A  Trip  to  the  South.  47 

but  to  little  purpose.  It  seemed  inevitable  that  we  should  be 
pitched  out  ;  and  the  mail-bags  were  as  restless  as  ourselves.  An 
unexpected  mishap  occurred.  The  pole  of  the  wagon  suddenly 
snapped,  and  the  United  States  mail  came  to  a  dead  stop  against 
a  tree.  '  Now  what's  to  be  done  ?'  I  demanded  ruefully  ;  but 
the  driver  seemed  buried  in  his  own  reflections,  and  vouch 
safed  no  reply.  After  a  solemn  pause  he  got  down,  detached 
one  of  the  horses,  mounted  him,  and,  borrowing  a  torch,  said  he 
would  ride  to  the  nearest  hut  to  borrow  a  hatchet.  In  the  course 
of  an  hour  he  returned,  followed  by  three  Indians,  with  the  ne 
cessary  implement.  As  the  cavalcade  approached  through  the 
forest,  bearing  pine  torches,  the  effect  was  quite  picturesque.  The 
Dutchman  lent  a  hand  to  the  driver,  whilst  Williams  and  I  looked 
after  the  horses,  still  very  restless.  The  Indians  gazed  stolidly  on, 
without  moving  a  muscle,  secretly  longing,  no  doubt,  for  our 
scalps,  that  we  were  sufficiently  armed,  however,  to  protect.  In 
due  time  a  rude  reparation  was  effected,  and  we  proceeded  on 
wards  in  anything  but  a  lively  mood. 

The  road,  soaked  with  the  spring  rains,  grew  worse,  and  after 
jerking  on  for  another  mile,  away  went  one  of  the  hind-wheels, 
and  we  all  rolled  out  in  the  mud.  This  disaster  was  not  so  seri 
ous  as  the  last,  for,  with  the  aid  of  a  linch-pin  found  on  the  pre 
mises,  we  managed  to  restore  our  crazy  vehicle  to  its  pristine 
equilibrium.  We  started  again  ;  and  after  numberless  plunges  to 
the  right  and  left  we  reached  Fort  Mitchel,  having  done  our  ten 
miles  in  little  over  seven  hours. 

We  set  to  work  greedily  at  the  corn-bread  and  bacon  served 
for  our  breakfast,  and  then  began  to  think  of  prosecuting  our 
journey.  To  our  consternation,  we  heard  that  the  conveyance  to 
carry  us  on  had  gone  some  hours  previously,  with  the  mails  of 
the  preceding  day ;  but  that  we  could  proceed  the  ensuing  morning, 
if  the  next  wagon  brought  no  passengers,  who  would  have  the  prior 
claim.  The  prospect  of  detention  in  this  lively  spot  for  twenty- 
four  hours  was  bad  enough  ;  but  an  indefinite  imprisonment 
filled  me  with  horror.  So  I  sought  out  our  new  driver,  and  in 
quired  if  he  had  never  been  induced  to  start  before  his  time. 

c  Why,  these  here  mails/  he  declared  conscientiously,  '  ought 
to  be  forwarded  as  soon  as  possible/ 

Upon  this  hint  I  spoke,  and  found  arguments  in  my  pocket 
strong  enough  to  overcome  all  scruples.  It  was  soon  settled  we 
should  decamp  at  4  A.M.  next  morning.  My  mind  thus  relieved, 


48  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

I  took  to  an  outhouse  to  rest  my  jaded  limbs,  and  slept  soundly 
on  a  wretched  pallet,  quite  unconscious  that  the  rain  was  drop 
ping  on  me  through  the  chinks  in  the  roof. 

We  set  off  even  before  the  appointed  time  next  morning, 
lest  we  might  be  anticipated,  and  soon  found  that  wagon  No.  2 
was  no  improvement  on  the  last,  and  the  road,  if  possible,  worse. 
After  ploughing  our  way  a  few  miles,  we  brought  up  before  a 
quagmire  of  formidable  dimensions. 

'  Well,  see  here,'  said  our  imperturbable  charioteer,  '  I  reckon 
you'd  better  jump  out,  and  take  a  short  cut  through  the  woods  to 
the  right,  and  meet  me  at  t'other  end  of  this  bed  of  lavender.' 

Nothing  loth  to  stretch  our  legs,  we  dashed  into  the  forest 
right  merrily,  under  the  inspiring  influence  of  the  bright  morning 
sun.  We  walked  on  for  some  time,  and  began  to  wonder  where 
the  road  in  question  was,  and  then  renewed  our  search,  but  in 
vain.  After  trudging  on  for  over  an  hour,  I  concluded  we  had 
missed  the  '  short  cut'  suggested,  and  proposed  a  parley.  Williams 
was  bent  on  one  direction,  and  the  Dutchman  on  another.  I  was 
perplexed  and  undecided.  The  end  was  that  the  obstinate  Hol 
lander  broke  off  from  us,  exclaiming,  (  Do  vat  you  likes,  I  goo  tis 
vay  ;'  whilst  I  followed  my  friend  '  amid  doubts  confusing.'  Every 
now  and  then  a  broad  stream  of  light  was  visible  in  the  distance, 
and  believing  our  escape  at  hand  we  strode  on  rapidly,  only  to 
discover  that  some  hurricane  had  strewn  the  ground  for  acres 
with  prostrate  trees.  By  degrees  the  startling  conviction  forced 
itself  upon  us  that  we  were  lost,  and  how  to  obtain  deliverance 
from  the  trackless  wilderness  around  confounded  all  speculation. 

Fatigue  was  gradually  overcoming  us,  and,  worse  than  all,  the 
pangs  of  hunger  began  to  torture  us  ;  for  we  had  eaten  nothing 
before  starting,  expecting  to  breakfast  at  the  first  relay,  only  two 
miles  distant  when  we  entered  the  forest.  Our  situation  seemed 
desperate,  as  we  could  count  on  no  prospect  of  succour.  In  down 
right  despair  we  seated  ourselves  upon  a  fallen  tree,  and  brooded 
gloomily  over  our  unhappy  plight. 

'  I  would  rather  shoot  myself/  I  said  moodily,  '  than  suffer  the 
agonies  of  starvation.' 

'  It  is  not  unlikely  that  we  shall  have  to  choose  before  long/ 
replied  my  companion  calmly. 

Relapsing  into  silence,  my  eyes  wandered  round  in  vacancy, 
when,  springing  to  my  feet,  I  exclaimed, '  What's  that  ?'  pointing 
in  the  direction. 


A  Trip  to  the  South.  49 

*  Why,  it  is  smoke  !'  returned  Williams  ;  and,  half  delirious 
with  hope,  we  ran  towards  it. 

We  found  it  proceeded  from  a  hut,  and,  as  we  approached, 
began  shouting  to  attract  attention.  In  a  moment  an  Indian 
with  no  covering  save  a  strip  of  cloth  around  his  loins,  appeared 
at  the  entrance,  and  calmly  regarded  us.  Wearied  as  I  was,  I 
could  not  repress  my  admiration  at  his  singular  beauty.  Tall, 
and  perfect  in  form  and  limb,  he  was  a  model  of  manly  symmetry. 

We  began  explaining  hurriedly  our  luckless  position,  and 
eager  desire  to  get  out  of  it.  He  stood  unmoved  as  a  statue. 
Suddenly  remembering  that  our  tongue  was  unknown  to  him,  we 
resorted  to  pantomime,  and  with  a  redundancy  of  gesture  and 
grimace  endeavoured  to  make  him  comprehend  we  wanted  to 
find  the  stage-house.  Nodding  his  head,  without  change  of 
feature,  he  retired  into  his  hut.  Not  knowing  what  that  might 
mean,  we  followed,  and  found  him  adding  a  blanket  to  his  sparse 
raiment,  and  talking  to  his  squaw,  who  looked  uneasy,  as  if  she 
suspected  some  act  of  White  treachery.  She  was  the  only  hand 
some  Indian  woman  I  ever  saw.  Her  features  were  regular,  and 
cheek-bones  less  prominent  than  usual.  She  was  attired  in  a 
short  skirt  adorned  with  beads.  Two  small  boys  were  sitting  on 
the  ground,  entirely  naked.  The  Indian  beckoned  us  to  follow. 
I  picked  up  a  pair  of  pretty  moccasins  I  wished  to  carry  off  as  a 
souvenir,  and  tendered  the  squaw  a  couple  of  Mexican  dollars. 
She  took  the  moccasins  from  my  hand,  looked  displeased,  and 
walked  away.  I  saw  lots  of  game  hanging  up,  and  made  signs 
of  hunger,  but  no  notice  was  taken  of  my  demonstrations. 

Our  savage  guide  led  off  with  rapid  strides  ;  but  we  halloaed 
after  him,  and  made  him  comprehend  we  could  not  keep  up  at 
such  a  pace,  and  he  moderated  his  gait.  It  was  natural,  under 
the  circumstances,  to  speculate  on  our  fate — whether  our  stalwart 
cicerone  meant  to  deliver  us  from  bondage,  or  merely  intended  to 
hand  us  over  to  the  tender  mercies  of  his  brother  savages.  Only 
once  the  Indian  turned  round,  and,  pointing  to  the  ground,  gave  a 
significant  grunt.  We  looked  down,  and  to  our  alarm  saw  a  large 
snake,  disturbed  by  our  approach,  gathering  himself  up  for  battle. 
We  sprang  out  of  his  way  with  wonderful  alacrity.  In  less  than 
an  hour  we  emerged  on  the  road,  and  our  tawny  friend  pointed 
to  the  relay-house.  In  the  profusion  of  my  gratitude  I  stretched 
out  my  hand  full  of  silver.  He  turned  sharp  round,  without  a 
look  or  a  sign,  and  disappeared  in  the  depths  of  his  wild  domain. 

E 


50  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

The  American  Indian  is  the  grandest  savage  of  them  all.  His 
history  is  a  record  of  noble  traits  and  heroic  actions.  Civilisation 
has  despoiled  and  well-nigh  exterminated  him.  Unfortunate  race  ! 
'  Who  mourns  for  Logan  ?  Not  one,'  was  the  touching  wail  of  that 
great  chieftain. 

I  felt  some  anxiety,  as  we  neared  our  goal,  lest  the  driver, 
alarmed  at  our  non-appearance,  had  mounted  a  horse  and  gone 
in  quest  of  us,  and  perhaps  been  lost  in  his  turn.  Instead  of  that, 
we  found  him  sprawling  on  his  back  fast  asleep  under  the  porch 
of  the  house.  We  woke  him  with  our  denunciations.  He  sat  up 
and  yawned. 

*  Well,  strangers/  he  asked,  '  whar  have  you  been  ?  The  mail's 
a-waitin'.  Eat  your  breakfast  quick.' 

His  sang-froid  disarmed  us,  and  we  were  too  famished  to  talk. 
After  eating,  we  insisted  on  a  rest  ;  and,  nothing  loth,  Jehu  re 
sumed  his  slumber.  Hard  by,  Mynheer  was  snoring  serenely  on 
a  bench,  having  effected  his  escape  some  hours  before. 

We  moved  on  again  late  in  the  afternoon, and  reached  the  next 
relay  about  9  o'clock,  where  we  passed  the  night.  We  hoped  the 
following  day  to  make  our  exit  from  the  forest ;  but  no  such  luck. 
By  way  of  variety,  however,  we  were  more  than  once  compelled  to 
abandon  land  travel,  and  resort  to  a  new  method  of  navigation. 
Owing  to  the  heavy  spring  freshets,  the  road  was  frequently  in 
undated  for  considerable  distances,  and  strewn  with  floating 
timber.  To  make  the  wagon  more  buoyant,  we  were  obliged  to 
get  out,  mount  a  log,  and  paddle  ourselves  over,  at  the  risk  of 
immersion,  and  we  found  it  a  performance  far  more  novel  than 
agreeable.  At  the  close  of  the  fourth  day,  after  innumerable 
vicissitudes,  we  drove  into  Montgomery,  then  a  small  village  on 
the  banks  of  the  Alabama  river,  and  I  made  up  my  mind  that,  in 
the  way  of  travelling,  I  had  seen  the  worst  phase  that  could  ever 
befall  me. 

We  were  forced  to  dawdle  about  for  a  couple  of  days  till  a 
steamer  arrived  bound  to  Mobile,  our  next  destination,  a  distance 
of  450  miles.  Descending  the  river  in  a  comfortable  steamer  was 
a  pleasant  exchange  from  the  United  States  mail-wagon,  and  we 
were  diverted  by  frequent  stoppages  at  various  plantations  on 
either  bank,  to  take  in  cotton  bales,  until  our  barque  was  loaded 
almost  to  the  height  of  her  smoke-stack.  I  was  charmed  with 
the  appearance  of  Mobile  as  it  hove  in  sight.  Long  rows  of  ware 
houses  lined  the  quay,  and  mountains  of  cotton  reared  their 


A  Trip  to  the  South.  5 1 

fleecy  heads  on  every  side.  The  houses  were  substantial,  and 
many  of  them  quite  imposing.  The  streets  were  macadamised 
with  a  white  shell  from  the  beach  ;  and,  to  crown  all,  the  hotel 
where  we  lodged  was  the  most  commodious  and  best  provided 
of  any  since  leaving  the  North. 

The  heat  was  daily  increasing,  and  I  deemed  it  necessary  to 
push  on  ;  but  the  news  from  New  Orleans,  now  so  near,  was 
startling  in  the  extreme.  The  cholera  was  raging  there  with 
great  virulence,  and  every  day  the  papers  were  filled  with  long 
lists  of  its  victims.  Williams  and  I  hesitated  before  plunging 
into  this  charnel-house.  The  risk  of  being  '  put  to  bed  with  a 
shovel'  was  anything  but  seductive.  The  alternative  of  renewing 
our  acquaintance  with  the  Creek  country  and  the  United  States 
mail  inspired  us  with  courage,  and  we  concluded  that,  by  avoid 
ing  the  heat  and  observing  a  prudent  regimen,  we  might  venture 
into  New  Orleans,  where  we  could  take  the  first  steamer  up  the 
Mississippi. 

We  set  out,  accordingly,  in  no  very  cheerful  mood,  and  drove 
thirty  miles  to*  the  steamer  that  was  to  convey  us  over  Lake  Pon- 
chartrain.  On  landing,  we  had  still  a  railroad  trip  of  four  miles 
to  reach  the  city,  and  our  route  was  across  a  swamp  filled  with 
stagnant  pools,  that  emitted  under  the  burning  sun  such  nause 
ous  vapours  that  I  was  forced  to  bury  my  nose  in  a  handker 
chief.  I  wondered  no  longer  at  the  annual  visitations  of  yellow 
fever  in  this  region.  On  entering  New  Orleans,  instead  of  find 
ing  the  streets  deserted,  shops  shut,  and  bells  tolling,  everything 
seemed  to  wear  its  ordinary  aspect.  Business  was  going  on  as 
usual,  and  people  seemed  thinking  of  everything  but  cholera.  I 
supposed  that  the  pestilence  had  either  disappeared  or  been  ex 
aggerated.  Not  a  whit.  I  soon  discovered  that  the  inhabitants 
were  so  hardened  by  the  prevalence  of  yellow  fever  every  year, 
an  equally  fatal  malady,  that  they  looked  cholera  in  the  face  with 
out  the  least  dismay.  The  only  effect  of  it  that  I  could  perceive 
during  my  stay  was  the  suspension  of  the  daily  duels  that  consti 
tuted  one  of  the  amusements  of  the  place.  Every  afternoon,  in 
ordinary  times,  people  drove  out  on  a  fashionable  road  to  a  cer 
tain  locality,  where  these  bloody  pastimes  were  enacted  in  the 
presence  of  numerous  interested  spectators.  The  cholera  evidently 
served  to  calm  the  pugnacity  of  these  hot-blooded  Southerners, 
for  not  a  duel  occurred  during  my  visit. 

I  met  here  several  of  my  old  classmates,  already  married 


52  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

men,  and  of  course  I  bad  frequently  to  dine  out.  Under  the  in 
fluence  of  the  pest-defying  spirit  about  I  forgot  my  prudent 
resolutions,  and  indulged  more  freely  than  was  wise.  Above  all, 
I  was  tempted  by  the  luscious  fruits  of  this  sunny  clime.  The 
consequence  was  that  on  the  fourth  day  I  was  pounced  upon  by 
the  lurking  foe,  but,  happily,  not  very  seriously  damaged.  On 
summoning  the  doctor,  I  was  not  a  little  startled  by  his  asking 
me,  with  a  smile, '  if  I  had  made  my  will.'  I  replied,  surprised, 
in  the  affirmative.  '  Then  you  are  safe/  he  remarked  ;  '  for  no 
body  ever  dies  who  has  made  a  will,  I  find.'  I  exercised  more 
caution  on  my  recovery. 

New  Orleans  was  wholly  unlike  any  place  I  had  ever  seen 
or  imagined  in  many  respects.  One  feature  that  amused  me 
was  the  complete  demarcation  which  existed  between  the 
French  and  American  population.  A  street  divided  the  two 
quarters  they  inhabited,  and  if  it  had  been  a  wide  ocean  the 
dissimilarity  could  not  have  been  more  positive.  In  language, 
manners,  amusements,  and  usages  one  was  all  French,  the  other 
all  American.  You  had  only  to  cross  a  street  to*  find  yourself  in 
a  foreign  land.  Another  peculiarity  was  the  bewildering  variety 
of  tongues  spoken  on  every  side,  attesting  the  vicissitudes  that 
section  of  the  United  States  had  undergone.  Spanish,  French, 
and  English  predominated  ;  but  German  was  by  no  means  un 
common.  The  market-place  was  the  nearest  approach  to  Babel 
I  could  conceive  of,  for  all  were  vociferating  in  their  native 
lingo,  to  the  utter  confusion  of  the  stranger. 

I  had  often  heard  of  the  beauty  of  the  Quadroons,  and  found 
it  was  not  in  the  least  exaggerated.  Generally  they  were  above 
medium  height,  with  a  creamy-white  complexion,  and  lustrous 
dark  eyes  of  a  soft  voluptuous  expression.  Their  figures  were 
matchless.  A  peculiar  charm  was  the  pliant  flexible  grace  of 
every  movement.  Poor  creatures,  their  social  condition  was 
deeply  touching.  Prejudice  against  their  streak  of  negro  blood, 
though  so  far  removed,  shut  them  out  from  white  society,  and 
they  recoiled  in  disgust  from  association  with  the  blacks.  They 
lived  in  an  isolated  state,  mingling  only  with  their  own  caste, 
and  falling  a  prey,  for  the  most  part,  to  men  of  fortune.  I  won 
dered  if  the  abolition  of  slavery  would  change  their  status. 

The  only  public  building  that  attracted  my  attention  was  the 
old  cathedral,  a  relic  of  the  Spanish  epoch.  It  struck  me  as 
very  gloomy  and  dirty  ;  but  I  was  then  fresh  from  the  new 


A  Trip  to  the  South.  53 

structures  and  white  marble  of  my  native  town,  and  not  accus 
tomed  to  ancient  edifices  of  a  sombre  aspect  It  was  in  this 
church  that  a  Te  Deum  was  sung  for  the  battle  of  New  Orleans. 
The  same  night,  it  is  recorded,  a  ball  was  given  to  the  hero  of 
the  fight,  and  one  of  the  mottoes  used  on  the  occasion  was 
1  Victory  and  Jackson  ;  they  are  one.' 

When  the  General's  glance  fell  on  it,  he  remarked, '  It  ought 
to  have  been  "  Hickory  and  victory;"  that  would  have  been  more 
poetical/*  This  sly  bit  of  satire  proved  that  the  grim  warrior  was 
not  very  accessible  to  flattery. 

Before  leaving  I  felt  bound  to  visit  Baton  Rouge,  one  hundred 
and  fifty  miles  up  the  Mississippi,  to  see  some  relations  of  mine 
who  had  a  plantation  in  that  neighbourhood.  I  passed  the 
night  at  an  hotel  there,  and  met  a  fine-looking  man  whose  name 
I  forget,  but  not  an  incident  connected  with  him.  He  was 
much  given  to  duelling,  and  in  his  last  affair  was  run  clean 
through  the  body  with  the  sword  of  his  antagonist.  When  the 
doctor  examined  him  he  bade  him  make  his  preparations,  for 
he  had  but  a  short  time  to  live. 

*  You  are  mistaken,  doctor/  he  gasped  out  ;  '  for  you  will 
see  how  hard  it  is  to  kill  a  man  that  won't  die/ 

.  To   the   surprise  of  all  he  recovered,   and    was  ordered  to 
'  Baton  Rouge  for  his  convalescence. 

I  remained  only  a  day  or  two  with  my  cousins,  as  I  thought 
| it  inconsiderate  to  detain  my  friend  Williams  at  New  Orleans, 
where  nobody's  life  was  safe. 

The  cholera  was  committing  sad  havoc  among  the  negroes 
;of  the  plantations,  who  were  carried  off  in  great  numbers.  On 
'the  plantation  of  a  Colonel  Proctor,  I  heard  that  out  of  two 
hundred  slaves  eighty  were  swept  off  in  twenty-four  hours. 
Finding  the  rest  panic-stricken,  he  bade  them  fly  for  their  lives  ; 
and  they  all  ran  away.  As  far  as  I  could  judge,  the  poor  negroes 
were  most  anxiously  looked  after  by  their  masters,  who  were 
among  them  day  and  night,  to  see  they  were  not  neglected  by 
the  overseers,  and  that  proper  medicines  and  nourishment  were 
supplied.  Here,  as  all  through  the  South,  I  found  that  the 
household  slaves  lived  on  the  most  familiar  terms  with  the 
families  of  their  owners.  The  white  and  black  children  played 
together  ;  the  young  ladies  and  their  sable  maids  were  in  con- 

*  Even  at  this  date  the  nickname  of  '  Old  Hickory*  was  applied  to  General 
Jackson. 


54  A  Trip  to  the  South. 

stant  companionship,  as  if  they  were  all  of  one  race  and  colour. 
No  repugnance  was  manifested  like  that  existing  at  the  North 
against  the  free  black.  I  remarked  that  the  negroes,  both  of  the 
house  and  the  field,  were  indolent  and  careless,  which  I  attri 
buted  chiefly  to  an  enervating  climate.  Query,  would  they  be 
stimulated  to  more  active  exertion  should  emancipation,  so  often 
discussed,  ever  overtake  them  ? 

In  honour  of  my  visit,  my  relatives  invited  some  friends 
from  adjoining  plantations  to  meet  me  at  dinner,  and  amongst 
them  was  a  young  lady  of  seventeen,  whose  ravishing  beauty  I 
have  never  forgotten.  Unfortunately  she  could  not  speak  a 
word  of  English,  and  my  French  was  then  so  halting  that 
I  could  only  look  unutterable  things,  without  being  able  to 
translate  them.  Occasionally  I  manufactured  a  sentence  meant 
to  convey  my  inflammatory  condition,  but  before  I  got  it  half 
expressed  her  gorgeous  eyes  would  strike  me  dumb.  I  have 
often  thought  of  what  might  have  happened  if  she  had  spoken 
English,  or  I  French. 

To  my  delight  I  found  Williams  well  on  my  return,  but 
impatient  to  get  away.  As  the  most  alarming  reports  reached  us 
of  the  numerous  deaths  on  the  steamers  bound  up  the  river  to 
St.  Louis,  we  resolved  to  abandon  our  original  plan  of  returning 
home  by  that  route,  and  decided  on  embarking  direct  for  New 
York.  We  secured  berths  in  the  good  ship  *  Cincinnati/  and 
hurried  away  from  the  plague-ridden  city.  The  refreshing 
effect  of  the  invigorating  sea-breeze,  after  the  hot  and  foul  at 
mosphere  we  had  left  behind  us,  was  exhilarating  in  the  extreme, 
and  I  recovered  rapidly  from  the  debility  I  could  never  quite 
shake  off  after  my  brief  attack  of  cholera.  I  almost  regretted 
the  termination  of  our  voyage  of  seventeen  days'  duration. 


CHAPTER  VL 

SARATOGA. 

ROBERTS  VAUX — LORD  POWERSCOURT — MRS.  COSTER — A  '  MAGICIAN.' 

IT  was  the  middle  of  June  before  I  got  back  to  Philadelphia,  and 
I  set  to  work  at  my  neglected  law-books  with  assiduity.  My 
mind,  however,  was  constantly  diverted  by  '  thick-coming'  sou 
venirs  of  my  Southern  journey,  and  the  heat  of  our  inland  town 
further  indisposed  me  for  hard  study.  Towards  the  end  of  July 
I  determined  to  shut  up  shop  till  the  autumn,  and  betake  myself 
to  Saratoga.  These  famous  springs  were  the  favourite  resort  of 
all  the  fashion  of  the  country.  The  best  families  of  North  and 
South  congregated  there  in  great  force  in  the  months  of  July  and 
August.  All  the  loveliest  belles  of  the  Southern  and  Northern 
cities,  all  the  renowned  politicians,  all  the  distinguished  pro 
fessional  men  and  prominent  merchants,  assembled  annually  in 
this  pretty  village,  and  paraded  gaily  up  and  down  the  piazzas 
of  Congress  Hall,  the  United  States  and  Union  Hotels,  that 
presented  a  most  gala-like  appearance. 

Before  I  say  anything  of  the  people  I  met  there  in  the 
summer  of  1833,  I  will  devote  a  few  lines  to  the  charming 
family  I  accompanied  there — Roberts  Vaux,  his  wife,  and  two 
sons.  The  name  of  Roberts  Vaux  was  familiar  to  every  inha 
bitant  of  his  native  town  of  Philadelphia,  and  widely  known 
through  the  country.  A  man  of  fortune  and  culture,  he  dedi 
cated  his  time,  influence,  and  means  to  works  of  usefulness  and 
charity.  Most  of  the  local  institutions,  literary  and  philanthropic, 
owed  their  origin  to  his  energy  ;  but  his  fame  chiefly  rested 
on  his  laborious  efforts  to  ameliorate  the  prison  system  of  that 
epoch. 

For  centuries  the  object  of  imprisonment  had  simply  been 
the  punishment  of  the  criminal.  Roberts  Vaux  thought  it  a 
wiser  and  more  humane  policy  to  attempt  his  reform.  To  this 
end  he  suggested  solitary  confinement,  which  would  not  only 
save  the  prisoner  from  contaminating  association,  and  prevent 
his  recognition  when  he  left  the  jail,  but,  above  all,  leave  him  in 


56  Saratoga. 


undisturbed  communion  with  his  own  conscience.  To  modify 
the  rigour  of  the  discipline,  he  proposed  to  give  the  prisoner 
work  if  desired,  and  the  Bible  to  read.  After  years  of  effort,  the 
sanction  of  the  State  was  obtained,  and  the  Cherry  Hill  Peni 
tentiary  was  built  on  an  entirely  new  model,  where  each  culprit 
occupied  a  cell  alone.  The  results  soon  proved  so  satisfactory  that 
the  system  was  applied  throughout  the  State.  This  movement 
of  Roberts  Vaux  to  remodel  the  prisons  of  Pennsylvania  led  to 
a  similar  movement  in  the  State  of  New  York,  where  preference, 
however,  was  given  to  what  was  called  the  '  silent  system.'  The 
prisoners  were  allowed  to  work  together  by  day  under  condition 
of  absolute  silence,  but  were  confined  separately  at  night.  This 
experiment  was  inaugurated  at  Auburn.  The  novel  attempt 
to  improve  the  condition  of  malefactors  made  a  sensation  in 
Europe,  and  France  sent  over  Messrs.  De  Tocqueville  and  De 
Beaumont ;  England,  Mr.  Crawford  ;  and  Prussia,  Dr.  Julius  ;  to 
examine  and  report  on  the  two  systems  in  question.  All  these 
eminent  persons  pronounced  in  favour  of  the  cellular  system  of 
Roberts  Vaux,  which  was  forthwith  introduced  into  their  respec 
tive  countries.* 

The  house  of  Mr.  Vaux  in  Philadelphia  was  the  rendezvous 
not  only  of  the  best  company  of  his  own  country,  but  of  all  dis 
tinguished  travellers  from  abroad.  The  roll  of  foreign  visitors 
who  shared  the  hospitality  of  the  Vaux  mansion  included  the 
names  of  all  the  prominent  men  who  visited  the  United  States 
at  that  day.  In  proof  of  the  manner  in  which  he  was  regarded 
and  esteemed  by  foreigners  of  position,  I  append  an  interesting 
letter  addressed  to  him  by  the  Grand  Duke  of  Saxe- Weimar,  the 
patron  and  friend  of  Goethe  :  - 

On  board  the  packet-ship  '  Pacific, '  near 
Sandy  Hook  Lighthouse, 
June  20,  1826. 

ROBERTS  VAUX,  ESQ. 

Sir, — Your  acquaintance  being  one  of  the  agreeable  recol 
lections  incident  to  my  travels  in  the  United  States, and  bearing  in 
mind  as  I  do  all  the  marks  of  friendship  which  you  unremittingly 
bestowed  on  me,  I  should  deem  it  an  unpardonable  act  of  ingra 
titude  if  I  quitted  this  country  without  previously  expressing  to 
you  my  sense  of  acknowledgment  for  all  that  you  were  so  kind 

*  Whether  solitary  confinement  was  found  too  severe  for  the  temperament  of  the 
vivacious  French,  or  from  other  causes,  France  has  of  late  years  greatly  modified  its 
ellular  system. 


Saratoga.  -       57 


as  to  do  for  me.  I  shall  never  forget  the  pleasant  and  instruc 
tive  hours  which  I  passed  with  you  in  Philadelphia.  An 
acquaintance  with  such  a  man  cannot  but  be  of  the  greatest 
utility  to  any  one  to  whom  the  prosperity  of  his  kind  is  not 
indifferent,  and  who  loves  to  meditate  on  the  improvement  of 
particular  classes  of  human  society,  without  resorting,  however, 
to  vague  theories  scarcely  resting  on  experience  or  fixed  prin 
ciples,  and  often  at  variance  with  the  best  of  our  consolations — 
religion.  If  those  systems  leave  a  void  in  the  heart,  the  senti 
ments  evoked  by  the  philanthropic  principles  which  you  profess 
are  very  different,  and  evince  that  one  of  the  sublimest  vocations 
of  man  is  that  of  labouring  for  his  own  improvement  and  that  of 
his  race.  I  hope  that  your  numerous  occupations  will  not  pre 
vent  you  from  recalling  yourself  to  me  occasionally.  When 
you  shall  do  so,  you  will  remember  one  who  is  most  sincerely 
attached  to  you,  and  who  admires  you  from  his  heart,  and  with 
an  entire  conviction  of  your  merits.  I  was  disappointed  in  not 
meeting  your  friend  Thomas  Eddy  at  New  York,  who  with  his 
wife  was  on  a  visit  to  Rhode  Island.  Have  the  goodness  to 
present  my  compliments  to  Mrs.  Vaux,  and  likewise  to  your 
friend  Wood,  whom  I  was  sorry  not  to  find  in  Philadelphia,  as 
well  as  to  your  neighbour  Mr.  Neiderstetter  (the  Prussian 
Minister). — Accept,  sir,  the  assurances  of  my  perfect  consi 
deration. 

BERNARD,  DUKE  OF  SAXE- WEIMAR.* 

Mr.  Vaux,  at  the  time  I  travelled  with  him  to  Saratoga,  was 
not  yet  fifty,  and  seemingly  in  robust  health.  His  face  wore  an 
expression  of  extreme  benevolence,  characteristic  of  his  nature, 
and  his  manners  were  unassuming  and  most  winning.  His  estim 
able  wife  was  the  very  incarnation  of  goodness.  She  always  had 
a  kind  word  for  every  one,  and  the  unfortunate  never  appealed 
to  her  in  vain.  Her  benignant  disposition  was  ever  on  the  alert, 
and  she  steadily  sustained  and  encouraged  her  husband  to  new 
efforts  on  behalf  of  the  poor  and  suffering.  The  elder  son, 
Richard,  was  near  my  own  age,  and  a  hearty  friendship  had 
sprung  up  between  us,  which  promised  to  '  ne'er  know  retir 
ing  ebb.' 

On  arriving  at  Saratoga,  the  Vaux  family  took  rooms  at  the 

*  The  writer  of  the  above,  soon  after  his  return  to  his  Duchy  of  Saxe- Weimar, 
published  an  interesting  book  of  travels  in  North  America,  which  was  widely  read  in 
Germany,  England,  and  the  United  States. 


58  Saratoga. 


Union  Hotel,  then  frequented  by  the  more  sedate  class,  whilst 
I  repaired  to  Congress  Hall,  bubbling  over  with  fashionable 
celebrities. 

The  '  observed  of  all  observers'  there  was  an  Irish  nobleman 
of  large  fortune,  Viscount  Powerscourt  Men  of  title  at  that  day 
were  great  novelties,  as  few  of  them  ever  crossed  the  ocean.  A 
trip  over  Europe  was  far  more  inviting  than  a  long  voyage  in  a 
sailing-ship.  Lord  Powerscourt  was  a  quiet  unpretending  man, 
with  that  impassibility  of  demeanour,  bordering  on  frigidity, 
characteristic  of  his  class,  and  very  odious  to  our  free-and-easy 
countrymen.  He  afterwards  married  the  most  beautiful  woman 
of  her  day,  a  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Roden. 

I  had  the  pleasure  of  meeting  again  my  former  compagn?  de 
'voyage,  the  imposing  Mrs.  Coster.  She  was  always  surrounded 
by  throngs  of  admirers,  and  moved  up  and  down  the  crowded 
promenade  like  a  queen,  as  she  looked,  with  a  brilliant  retinue 
struggling  for  her  notice.  We  had  some  pleasant  chats  on  our 
voyage  to  Charleston  ;  but  sustained  conversation  with  her  was 
well-nigh  impossible  amid  the  bustling  competition  for  her  hand 
in  a  dance,  or  her  arm  for  a  stroll. 

I  was  vastly  attracted  by  the  quiet  beauty,  engaging  manners, 
and  modest  mien  of  Miss  Fulton,  granddaughter  of  Robert  Fulton, 
the  father  of  steam  navigation.*  Rather  tall,  with  a  lovely  figure, 
a  pale  but  clear  complexion,  blue  eyes  of  exceeding  softness,  she 
was  one  of  the  most  admired  belles  of  the  season.  Among  various 
proffers  for  her  hand,  she  accepted  that  of  a  wealthy  Philadel- 
phian,  Charles  Blight,  and  lived  for  many  years  in  great 
splendour. 

It  was  in  the  saloons  of  the  United  States  Hotel  I  was  first 
presented  to  the  foremost  statesman  of  the  North,  Martin  Van 
Buren,  then  Vice-President  of  the  Union.  He  was  yet  in  the 
prime  of  life,  of  medium  height  and  a  pleasing  countenance, 
always  enlivened  by  a  bland  smile,  in  which,  however,  the  ob 
server  could  detect  that  matchless  craft  which  was  his  leading 
trait,  and  obtained  him  the  familiar  appellation  of  the  '  Little 
Magician.'  In  manner  he  was  eminently  seductive.  Courtly  and 
distingue,  he  impressed  all  who  approached  him.  His  rise  in  the 
politics  of  his  native  State  was  gradual  but  steady.  Beginning 

*  In  August  1807,  R.  Fulton  ran  his  steamer,  the  '  Clermont,'  up  to  Albany  at  the 
speed  of  five  miles  an  hour.  This  was  the  origin  of  steam  navigation  in  the  United 

States. 


Saratoga.  59 


at  the  lowest  round  of  the  ladder,  he  advanced,  step  by  step,  till 
he  reached  the  gubernatorial  chair.  He  then  suddenly  became  a 
shining  light  at  Washington,  and  was,  as  I  have  recorded,  even 
tually  seated  in  the  office  of  Secretary  of  State  in  the  first  Ad 
ministration  of  General  Jackson.  The  remarkable  feature  of 
his  political  career  was  its  crescendo  development,  without  noise, 
effort,  or  even  the  vehement  opposition  that  successful  politicians 
usually  encounter  in  all  free  countries.  This  arose  from  his  won 
derful  skill  in  organisation.  By  astute  combinations  and  admir 
able  '  engineering'  he  secretly  prepared  the  way,  and  before  people 
dreamt  of  what  he  was  aiming  at  he  serenely  perched  himself  in  the 
position  he  had  deliberately  selected.  These  constant  surprises, 
and  these  constant  successes,  effected  by  machinery  no  one  saw  or 
suspected,  led  to  his  being  dubbed  the  c  Magician/  for  this  modus 
operandi  was  a  new  thing  in  American  politics.  A  leading  feature 
of  his  tactics  was  to  avoid  writing  letters  or  making  speeches  ;  and 
when  he  was  forced  to  do  either,  you  might  have  subjected  them 
to  the  test  of  a  hydraulic  press  without  extracting  a  word  that 
would  compromise  himself  or  serve  his  enemies.  His  master 
stroke  was,  doubtless,  springing  the  mine  which  sent  General 
Jackson's  first  Cabinet  into  the  air.  Yet,  after  the  smoke  cleared 
away,  no  one  could  discover  the  artful  hand  which  had  applied 
the  match. 

At  Saratoga,  the  Vice- President  was  treated  with  the  de 
ference  due  to  the  coming  man  ;  for  no  one  doubted  his  suc 
ceeding  to  the  Presidential  chair,  whilst  his  influence  over  its 
actual  occupant  was  believed  to  be  absolute.  He  underwent 
presentations  daily  by  the  score ;  and  whilst  all  were  charmed  with 
his  urbanity  and  encouraged  by  his  smiles,  no  one  could  entice 
him  into  conversation,  much  less  secure  his  company  for  a  turn 
on  the  piazza.  He  was  generally  surrounded  by  ladies,  and  never 
walked  without  one  on  his  arm,  to  ward  off  intruders.  The  ac 
complished  widow,  Mrs.  De  Forest  of  New  Haven,  whom  I  have 
mentioned,  was  his  constant  protector  on  these  occasions,  and 
the  rumour  became  prevalent  that  the  Vice-President,  who  was 
a  widower,  was  contemplating  a  match.  The  best  proof  to  the 
contrary,  I  thought,  was  his  seeming  devotion  to  her.  Had  he 
meant  business,  the  world  would  have  known  nothing  till  the 
marriage  had  occurred.  If  Henry  Clay  had  been  the  same  adroit 
master  offence,  what  heartburnings  he  would  have  escaped  !  But 
the  fearless  Kentuckian  scorned  stratagem,  and  would  speak  his 


60  Saratoga. 


mind.  Consequentamente,  as  the  Italians  say,  he  never  reached 
the  Presidency.  I  was  kindly  noticed  by  the  Vice-President, 
from  being  presented  by  his  intimate  friend  Roberts  Vaux.  Hear 
ing  I  intended  soon  to  visit  Europe,  he  offered  me  letters  of  in 
troduction,  which  I  was  proud  to  accept. 

There  was  a  staid  gentleman  with  a  pleasant  face,  and 
attired  in  the  Quaker  garb,  who  drove  a  handsome  equipage 
about  Saratoga  that  summer,  and  gave  numerous  dinners  to  all 
the  best  people  at  the  Lake.  This  was  Nathan  Dunn  of  Phila 
delphia,  who  made  a  large  fortune  in  China,  and  who  had  lately 
returned  to  his  native  place,  where  he  took  a  fine  house  in  Portico 
Row,  and  gave  splendid  entertainments.  He  established  at 
great  expense  a  Chinese  museum  at  Philadelphia,  consisting  of 
wax  figures  of  Chinese  artisans  working  at  their  respective 
trades,  and  dressed  in  their  native  costumes  ;  together  with  a 
great  variety  of  curiosities  from  the  Flowery  Land,  then  very 
novel.  It  was  much  frequented,  and  he  gave  the  proceeds  to- 
charitable  institutions.  Some  three  or  four  years  later,  the  town 
was  startled  at  hearing  he  was  accused  of  an  unmentionable 
offence.  The  charge  was  investigated,  and  the  belief  was 
general  that  it  was  merely  an  attempt  to  extort  money. 
Shocked,  doubtless,  at  the  odious  notoriety  thus  brought  on 
him,  he  abandoned  Philadelphia.  Nobody  ever  heard  of  him 
again.  It  was  supposed  he  had  returned  to  China. 

A  prominent  member  of  the  Philadelphia  bar,  and  a  Govern 
ment  Director  of  the  U.S.  Bank,  Henry  D.  Gilpin,  was  a  good 
deal  remarked  at  the  Springs  :  a  slight-looking  man,  in  gold 
spectacles,  very  erect,  and  displaying  in  his  conversation  rare 
intelligence  and  force  of  character.  He  was  an  ardent  ally  of 
the  Vice-President,  and  doubtless  passed  hours  with  him  in 
secret  council,  when  people  supposed  them  in  bed,  over  the  next 
move  on  the  political  chessboard,  though  they  were  seldom 
seen  together  in  the  daytime. 

No  one  piqued  the  curiosity  of  the  idlers  at  Saratoga  more 
than  the  notorious  Davy  Crocket,  a  Western  member  of  Con 
gress.  The  journals  were  always  full  of  his  adventures,  and  his 
eccentric  speeches  in  Congress  greatly  amused  the  country.  He 
was  a  fine-looking  man,  with  an  easy  good-natured  air,  and  a 
face  that  denoted  courage  and  resolution.  Not  long  after  this  he 
quarrelled  with  his  constituents,  who  found  fault  with  some  of 
his  votes.  He  replied  in  a  spirited  address,  explaining  his  views 


Saratoga.  61 


and  maintaining  his  position.  He  wound  up  by  saying,  if  they  did 

not  like  his  explanation,  '  they  might  go  to  h ,  and  he  would 

go  to  Texas/  then  quite  a  wilderness.  At  the  next  election  his 
former  partisans  gave  him  a  chance  to  go  to  Texas,  where  he 
died,  if  I  recollect,  fighting  the  Mexicans.  He  published  a  book 
of  his  life,  with  his  escapes  by  flood  and  field  ;  and  on  the  title- 
page  was  a  motto  of  his  own  composition,  and  very  characteristic  : 

'  Remember  this  when  I  am  dead  : 
Be  sure  you're  right,  then  go  ahead.' 

A  broad-shouldered  man,  with  a  grave  air  of  authority,  might 
be  seen  every  morning  with  his  back  against  one  of  the  pillars 
of  the  hotel  piazza.,  laying  down  'the  law  with  much  emphasis  on 
the  topics  of  the  day.  This  was  General  Tallmadge  of  New 
York,  a  person  of  some  importance.  The  General  was  a  good 
talker,  but  a  little  prosaic,  and  very  dogmatic.  He  was  a  hearty 
champion  of  American  manufactures  ;  and  woe  to  his  listeners 
when  he  took  up  that  topic,  for  a  long  oration  was  sure  to 
follow.  His  superb  daughter  was  just  budding  into  woman 
hood  ;  and  when  she  accompanied  her  father  to  Europe  some 
three  years  later,  her  extraordinary  beauty  made  a  great  sensa 
tion  at  the  Courts  of  London  and  St.  Petersburg. 

I  returned  to  Philadelphia  at  the  end  of  August,  greatly 
delighted  with  my  first  visit  to  Saratoga. 


CHAPTER  VII. 
JACKSON'S  LAST  VICTORY. 

A  PERFECT  TORNADO — FEARFUL  RESULTS — A  LUCKLESS  VICTIM— STRANGE 
RETRIBUTION. 

I  HAD  but  a  year  left  to  prepare  for  my  admission  to  the  bar, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  labour  diligently  that  I  might  pass  my 
examination  with  success  ;  yet  I  could  not  wholly  close  my  ears 
to  the  uproar  raging  around  me.  Philadelphia  was  then  a  prey 
to  intense  excitement  on  the  subject  of  'the  removal  of  the 
deposits'  from  the  United  States  Bank.  The  story  of  the  dire 
conflict  between  the  Bank  and  the  Administration  is  an  inter 
esting  one,  and  not  without  some  romantic  episodes.  It  was 
dne  of  the  great  events  of  the  Administration  of  General  Jackson, 
and  involved  the  fate  of  an  institution  of  undoubted  usefulness. 

The  United  States  Bank  was  in  1833  a  corporation  of  great 
power  and  prestige.  It  wielded  a  capital  of  thirty-five  millions, 
and  its  branches  were  scattered  like  so  many  forts  all  over  the 
country.  It  was  the  sole  fiscal  agent  of  the  Government  and 
custodian  of  its  funds.  Nicholas  Biddle  was  its  president,  and 
the  Board  of  Directors  consisted  of  the  leading  men  of  Phila 
delphia.  Five  of  the  directors  were  appointed  by  the  Govern 
ment.  Nicholas  Biddle,  who  belonged  to  one  of  the  prominent 
families  of  Pennsylvania,  was  a  man  of  high  character,  superior 
intellect,  and  great  financial  ability.  The  Bank  was  at  the 
height  of  its  prosperity  and  influence,  when  suddenly  a  cloud 
loomed  in  the  east.  Isaac  Hill,  an  auditor  in  the  Treasury 
Department  at  Washington,  desired  the  removal  of  Mr.  Mason, 
president  of  the  branch  Bank  at  Portsmouth,  New  Hampshire. 
His  motive,  as  it  turned  out,  was  the  refusal  of  Mr.  Mason  to 
favour  an  arrangement  which  would  have  benefited  a  small 
bank  at  Concord,  in  which  Hill  was  interested.  The  parent 
Bank  declined  to  remove  Mason,  and  the  indignant  auditor 
resolved  on  vengeance.  He  was  an  ardent  Jackson  man,  and 
determined  to  make  his  personal  grievance  a  political  question. 
He  forthwith  declared  that  '  the  friends  of  General  Jackson  had 


Jackson  s  Last  Victory.  63 

but  too  much  reason  to  complain  of  the  management  of  the 
branch  at  Portsmouth.'  The  moment  the  pugnacious  President 
found  that  one  of  his  friends  had  been  slighted  by  the  Bank,  he 
buckled  on  his  armour,  and  determined  on  a  conflict  with  the 
contumacious  foe. 

In  his  first  Message,  December  29,  he  gave  a  startling  blow 
at  the  Bank.  His  party,  not  then  suspecting  his  warlike  pur 
pose,  sustained  the  Bank,  both  in  the  Senate  and  House,  in 
eulogistic  reports.  But  Jackson  had  made  up  his  mind  for  a 
fight.  He  cared  nothing  about  the  Bank,  its  constitutionality,  or 
its  good  management.  He  was  simply  enraged,  like  King  Lear 
in  the  play,  that  one  of  his  men  had  been  '  put  in  the  stocks/ 
and  meant  to  avenge  the  affront.  He  was  impatient  for  another 
opportunity  to  open  a  cannonade  on  the  enemy.  In  the  autumn 
of  1832,  as  stated,  he  was  reflected,  and  this  only  gave  stimulus 
to  his  bellicose  designs.  On  the  meeting  of  Congress,  Mr. 
Dallas  in  the  Senate,  and  Mr.  McDuffie  in  the  House,  both 
Jackson  men,  brought  in  a  Bill  for  the  recharter  of  the  Bank  in 
1836.  It  passed  both  Houses.  To  the  astonishment  of  Congress 
and  the  country,  the  irate  Jackson  vetoed  the  Bill.  There  was 
no  mistaking  now  the  resolution  of  Jackson  to  break  down  the 
Bank,  which  courageously  took  up  the  gauntlet  hurled  in  its  face. 
A  tremendous  struggle  ensued,  which  convulsed  the  country. 
The  partisans  of  Jackson  in  great  numbers  forsook  him,  and 
denounced  his  conduct  as  illegal,  and  ruinous  to  the  interests  of 
all  classes.  The  grim  veteran  seemed  only  to  revel  in  the  dust 
and  din  of  the  combat.  No  sooner  had  Congress  adjourned 
than  he  planned  a  new  assault,  which  he  expected  would  enforce 
a  complete  surrender. 

He  ordered  his  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  W.  J.  Duane,  to 
remove  the  Government  deposits  from  the  vaults  of  the  Bank  ; 
but  Duane  was  a  citizen  of  Philadelphia,  and,  trembling  at  the 
ostracism  that  would  overtake  him  there  if  he  carried  out  the 
orders  of  his  chief,  refused  to  obey.  Furious  at  the  defection  of 
his  subordinate,  he  promptly  ordered  his  official  decapitation,  and 
seated  Roger  B.  Taney  in  his  place.  The  deposits  were  then  at 
once  removed,  and  transferred  to  various  State  banks  selected 
for  that  purpose,  which  soon  got  the  nickname  of  the '  pet  banks.' 
The  fiercest  denunciations  followed  this  bold  manoeuvre  of  the 
implacable  President ;  but,  only  intent  on  crippling  his  antagonist, 
he  snapped  his  fingers  at  outcries. 


64  Jackson  s  Last  Victory. 

Things  had  got  to  this  pass,  when  the  fury  of  the  contest 
forced  me  to  raise  my  head  from  my  books,  and  turn  my  atten 
tion  to  its  possible  results.  I  held  shares  in  the  Bank,  and 
cautious  people  were  selling  out  My  confidence  in  its  strength 
was  unbounded,  and  I  determined  to  abide  the  issue. 

After  the  deposits  were  removed,  the  Bank,  in  its  own  interest, 
felt  it  necessary  to  curtail  its  business  ;  and  this  brought  on  a 
severe  financial  pressure,  that  dislocated  the  business  of  the 
country,  and  irritated  men's  minds  more  than  ever.  Thousands 
execrated  the  mad  policy  of  Jackson  ;  but  he  showed  no  signs  of 
relenting  in  his  resolution  to  destroy  the  '  Monster,'  as  the  Bank 
was  christened  by  his  enthusiastic  followers.  Agitation  and 
alarm  continued  to  increase.  Paralysis  seized  on  every  branch 
of  trade.  The  notes  of  State  banks  depreciated,  and  discounts 
were  increased.  Public  stocks  fell  from  ten  to  thirty  per  cent ; 
domestic  produce  still  lower  ;  twelve  to  twenty  per  cent  was 
demanded  on  the  best  mercantile  paper ;  real  estate  declined  ; 
manufactures  were  suspended,  and  labourers  in  great  numbers 
discharged.  Jackson  asserted  that  all  this  distress  was  the  work 
of  the  Bank,  and  his  hostility  grew  more  violent  Amos  Kendall, 
his  favourite  lieutenant  in  the  Bank  campaign,  wrote  to  a  New 
York  editor : 

'  Yes,  sir  ;  this  boasting  giant  is  but  a  reptile  beneath  the 
feet  of  the  Secretary  of  the  Treasury,  which  he  can  crush  at  will. 
It  exists  by  his  forbearance,  and  will  for  the  next  forty  days  ; 
and  great  forbearance  will  it  require  to  save  it  from  destruction/ 
This  vehement  threat  was  soon  carried  into  effect  A  run 
was  made  on  the  Bank  to  the  extent  of  several  millions,  by  the 
sudden  presentation  of  Government  drafts,  which,  however,  were 
promptly  paid.  The  hubbub  rose  louder  and  louder.  In  the 
newspapers,  at  public  meetings,  in  the  State  Legislatures,  nothing 
was  heard  but  discordant  cries  and  fierce  invectives.  The  Jack 
son  party  retorted  that  the  Bank  had  violated  its  charter  and 
stooped  to  corruption  ;  that  it  had  dabbled  in  coin  and  stocks  ; 
that  it  had  made  donations  to  roads  and  canals  ;  that  it  had 
built  houses  to  rent  and  sell  ;  above  all,  that  it  had  suborned  the 
press.  It  was  alleged  that  loans  had  been  made  to  Webb  and 
Noah,  proprietors  of  the  New  York  Courier  and  Inquirer,  who 
had  then  abandoned  opposition  to  the  Bank,  and  become  its 
champions.  The  loans  were  admitted,  but  stated  to  be  { a  fair 
business  transaction.' 


Jacks  on  s  Last  Victory.  65 

When  Congress  assembled,  December  1833,  Henry  Clay  in 
the  Senate  moved  that  the  President  in  his  conduct  to  the  Bank 
had  exceeded  his  authority,  and  violated  the  Constitution  and 
laws.  The  resolution  passed.  The  irascible  Jackson  was  stung 
by  this  keen  reproach,  and  replied  in  a  Message  entering  his 
4  solemn  protest'  against  the  accusation.  The  Senate  refused  to 
receive  his  Message,  as  unconstitutional.  When  the  President 
nominated  the  usual  five  Government  directors,  the  Senate 
rejected  them. 

In  the  midst  of  this  tremendous  warfare  an  incident  occurred 
in  Philadelphia  which  I  will  mention,  as  descriptive  of  the  pas 
sionate  state  of  the  public  mind.  It  may  naturally  be  supposed 
that  our  town,  the  seat  of  the  parent  Bank,  was  the  scene  of  wild 
commotion.  There  was  little  diversity  of  opinion,  however, 
as  all  classes  clung  tenaciously  to  the  Bank.  The  president  and 
directors  were  the  first  men  of  the  place,  and  no  one  ventured, 
whatever  their  secret  views,  to  confront  'their  great  social  influ 
ence.  Yet  there  was  one  man,  ranking  with  the  foremost,  who 
had  hitherto  held  aloof,  and  amid  the  heat  of  the  strife  pursued 
the  '  even  tenor  of  his  way,'  devoting  all  his  time  to  his  usual 
laudable  pursuits.  Roberts  Vaux  was  no  politician,  and  shrank 
timidly  from  the  fiery  discussions  of  the  hour.  He  was  a  man, 
however,  of  too  much  weight  not  to  make  his  adhesion  an 
object  to  the  Bank  party,  whose  leaders  were  his  intimate 
personal  friends.*  He  was  called  upon  vociferously  to  declare 
himself ;  and,  forced  at  last  to  avow  his  opinions,  he  meekly 
stated  his  apprehension  that  '  a  Government  Bank  was  perhaps 
a  dangerous  institution,  as  it  might,  in  the  hands  of  unscru 
pulous  men,  be  used  as  a  lever  against  popular  liberty.' 

*  In  proof  of  the  former  cordial  relations  between  the  head  of  the  Bank  and  Mr. 
Vaux,  I  append  the  following  letter  : 

ROBERTS  VAUX,  ESQ. 

Dear  Sir, — I  will  come  to  your  house  this  evening  with  pleasure,  if  I  can  escape 
in  time  from  an  engagement  of  business  in  the  early  part  of  the  evening. 

The  Count  de  Lillers,  whom  you  know,  arrived  here  last  night,  and  in  the  course 
of  a  morning  visit  at  my  house  to-day  remarked  that  among  his  friends  here  was 
Mr.  Vaux,  whom  he  meant  to  go  and  see  this  evening.  Mrs.  Kiddle  advised  him  to 
go,  as  he  would  see  the  English  strangers,  £c.  ;  but  on  finding  you  had  company 
expressly  invited,  he  said  he  was  unwilling  to  go.  This  was  reported  to  me  on  my 
return  to  dinner.  No\v,  I  mean  to  seek  him  at  the  Mansion  House  this  afternoon, 
and  intend  to  urge  him  to  go  to  your  house.  So  that,  you  see,  in  answer  to  your 
invitation,  I  not  only  propose  to  go  myself,  but  to  invite  another  guest.  If  this  be 
wrong,  you  have  only  to  ascribe  it  to  your  own  amiable  temper,  and  to  the  great 
regard  of  yours  truly, 

December  5,  1827.  N.  BIDDLE. 

F 


66  Jacksoris  Lfist  Victory. 

Shouts  of  astonishment  and  indignation,  evoked  by  this  simple 
utterance  of  an  honest  conviction,  rang  through  the  streets  of 
Philadelphia.  From  mouth  to  mouth  flew  the  exclamation, 
*  Roberts  Vaux  is  a  Jackson  man.'  An  edict  of  social  exter 
mination  was  forthwith  registered  against  him,  and  his  house 
was  forsaken  by  the  influential  throng  that  had  hitherto  so  eagerly 
frequented  it.  To  the  right  and  left  he  was  shunned  and  aban 
doned.  A  crusade  was  organised  to  eject  him  from  all  the 
societies,  literary,  scientific,  and  philanthropic,  he  had  for  the 
most  part  founded,  and  it  was  done.  This  robbed  him  of  his 
daily  and  cherished  avocations. 

I  remember  acting  at  this  period  as  one  of  the  tellers  for  the 
election  of  the  annual  board  of  the  Athenaeum,  which  he  con 
stantly  visited.  He  came  up  to  me,  and  inquired  how  the 
canvas  was  proceeding. 

I  told  him  with  reluctance  that  'his  was  the  only  name 
blotted  from  the  list' 

A  shadow  passed  over  his  kind  face,  and  with  a  sigh  he 
exclaimed,  '  This  proscription  is  cruel  in  the  extreme.' 

But  he  was  not  a  man  to  yield  up  his  belief  even  under  the 
pangs  of  martyrdom.  To  him  at  that  sad  moment  might  have 
been  applied  the  lines  of  the  Latin  poet : 

'  Sighs,  groans,  and  tears  proclaim  his  inward  pains ; 
But  the  firm  purpose  of  his  mind  remains.' 

When  General  Jackson  heard  of  this  ruthless  persecution  he 
appointed  Roberts  Vaux  one  of  the  Associate  Judges  of  the 
United  States  District  Court  in  Philadelphia  ;  and,  though  foreign 
to  his  tastes  and  habits,  he  accepted  the  post,  and  set  to  work 
conscientiously  to  fulfil  his  new  duties.  But  his  sensitive  nature 
had  received  a  mortal  blow.  The  virulent  animosity  of  his  oldest 
and  dearest  friends,  his  humiliating  expulsion  from  positions  of 
honour  congenial  to  his  disposition,  secretly  gnawed  at  his  heart, 
and  undermined  his  health.  In  a  short  year  or  two,  forgiving  and 
forgetting,  he  sank  into  the  tomb. 

This  was  the  first  prominent  victim  of  the  tumultuous  passions 
then  raging,  but  not  the  last,  as  I  shall  presently  relate. 

In  spite  of  all  the  efforts  of  friends,  in  spite  of  the  objurgations 
of  his  envenomed  foes,  '  Old  Hickory'  kept  his  grip  firmly  on 
the  throat  of  the  '  Monster,'  till,  by  the  expiration  of  its  charter 
in  1836,  it  ceased  to  be  the  United  States  Government  Bank. 
Previously  to  this,  however,  its  stockholders  obtained  from  the 


Jacksorfs  Last  Victory.  67 

Legislature  of  Pennsylvania  a  new  charter  ;  and  the  Bank,  with 
undiminished  resources,  continued  its  business  as  a  State  insti 
tution. 

During  the  severe  stress  of  1836  the  mercantile  community 
received  sorely  needed  assistance  from  this  still  potent  corpora 
tion.  In  the  autumn  of  1837,  Mr.  Biddle,  leaving  his  legitimate 
sphere  of  banking,  launched,  with  the  consent  of  his  directors, 
into  a  colossal  speculation,  which  promised  immense  gains,  but 
involved  fearful  risks.  He  made  vast  purchases  of  cotton,  and 
consigned  them  to  his  agents  at  Liverpool  and  Havre.  His  hope 
was  to  regulate  prices  in  the  European  market  by  the  heavy  ship 
ments  he  controlled. 

The  first  experiment  yielded  large  profits,  which  encouraged 
him  to  go  on.  He  renewed  his  cotton-buying  on  a  still  larger 
scale  in  the  autumn  of  1838,  and,  as  the  crop  turned  out  smaller 
than  expected,  prodigious  results  were  anticipated.  These  ex 
pectations  were  thwarted  by  a  single  unforeseen  event.  The 
harvest  of  1838  in  England  failed,  and  large  sums  were  required 
for  the  purchase  of  foreign  grain.  This,  coupled  with  monetary 
difficulties  in  France  and  Belgium,  led  to  great  pressure  in 
England,  which  told  severely  on  the  cotton  market.  The  con 
sumption  in  the  previous  year  had  amounted  to  25,000  bales  per 
week  ;  but  it  now  gradually  fell,  till  it  reached  barely  5000  bales. 

Of  course  this  was  ruinous  to  the  calculations  of  Mr.  Biddle, 
and  his  enormous  losses  inspired  distrust  to  such  an  extent  that 
his  drafts  on  his  agents  in  Paris,  Hottinguer  &  Co.,  were  protested 
in  the  summer  of  1839.  This  was  a  deathblow  to  the  late  United 
States  Bank,  for  in  October  following  it  was  forced  to  suspend 
payment.  When  its  affairs  were  wound  up,  its  whole  capital  of 
thirty-five  millions  was  found  to  be  lost.  This  plunged  thousands 
into  bankruptcy  who  had  clung  to  Biddle  to  the  last.  Credulous 
like  the  rest,  I  lost  all  my  shares  ;  but  fortunately,  unlike  many, 
it  was  a  matter  of  a  few  thousand  dollars  only. 

The  reaction  that  followed  was  sweeping.  The  unfortunate 
Bank  president  was  denounced  in  the  language  of  frenzy,  and 
the  foresight  of 'Old  Hickory'  was  lauded  to  the  skies.  Biddle 
strove  hard  to  withstand  the  storm  of  obloquy  that  assailed  him 
on  every  side.  He  still  continued,  with  head  erect,  to  walk  the 
streets,  where  formerly  every  hat  was  raised  to  do  him  honour  ; 
but  now  he  met  only  averted  eyes,  scornful  looks,  and  l  curses  not 
loud  but  deep.'  Cowed  and  disconcerted,  he  disappeared  at  last, 


68  Jackson  s  Last  Victory. 

and  hid  himself  in  the  recesses  of  his  country  house   on   the 
banks  of  the  Delaware. 

A  little  later  on,  the  ill-fated  Biddle  was  indicted  for  malfeas 
ance,  and  cited  to  appear  before  one  of  the  city  courts.  I  formed 
one  of  the  throng  that  curiosity  had  attracted  to  witness  the 
spectacle.  There  stood  the  prisoner,  the  once  potential  Biddle, 
the  autocrat  of  the  financial  world,  the  chief  of  the  great  Bank 
party,  that  disputed  the  control  of  the  country  with  the  most 
resolute  and  popular  occupant  of  the  Presidency  since  Washing 
ton.  There  he  stood,  to  answer  for  alleged  misdeeds,  and  '  none 
so  poor  to  do  him  reverence.'  His  fine  countenance  was  still 
serene,  and  his  mien  calm  and  dignified  as  in  his  proudest  days. 
But  it  was  easy  to  imagine  the  tumult  within,  and  the  crushing 
sense  of  his  humiliation.  Before  him  on  the  bench  sat  the  pre 
siding  judge,  a  young  man  of  some  twenty-seven  years.  He  wore 
an  expression  '  more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger.'  His  manner  dis 
played  respect  and  sympathy.  He  seemed  only  to  remember 
that  his  prisoner  was  once  the  favourite  guest  of  his  father's 
house,  and  he  struggled  to  forget  that  it  was  the  fiat  of  this 
fallen  giant  that  had  consigned  that  father,  first  to  isolation,  and 
finally  to  a  premature  grave.  It  was,  indeed,  a  strange  freak  of 
destiny  that  assigned  to  Richard  Vaux,  the  Recorder  of  Phila 
delphia,  and  son  of  Roberts  Vaux,  the  solemn  duty  of  pronouncing 
judgment  on  the  fate  of  Nicholas  Biddle. 

'Thus  the  whirligig  of  Time  brings  in  his  revenges.' 

The  charge  was  dismissed,  and  the  accused  left  the  court,  to 
be  seen  no  more  of  men.  Not  long  after,  his  head  drooped,  and 
soon  he  followed  his  old  friend  Roberts  Vaux  to  the  common 
bourne.  This  was  the  end  of  the  strange  eventful  history  of 
*  Jackson's  last  victory/  and  it  really  reads  like  romance ;  but 
many  yet  live  in  Philadelphia  who  remember  it  all. 

In  following  out  this  bitter  contest  between  the  President  of 
the  United  States  and  the  President  of  the  United  States  Bank, 
which  would  have  lost  much  of  its  interest  if  broken  up  into  frag 
mentary  passages,  I  have  straggled  far  away  from  the  period 
when  I  began  the  tale.  I  must,  therefore,  beg  my  reader  to 
return  with  me  to  the  law-office  of  which  I  was  still  a  tenant  in 
December  1833,  and  try  to  recover  his  interest  in  the  events  of 
that  day. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

ADMISSION  TO  THE  BAR. 

TYRONE  POWER — A  GHOST  STORY — EDWIN  FORREST — A  TRIP  WEST. 

THE  Chestnut-street  Theatre  was  crowded  the  winter  of  1834  by 
enthusiastic  audiences  to  witness  the  admirable  acting  of  Tyrone 
Power,  the  Irish  comedian.  It  was  a  new  revelation  of  art.  Up 
to  this  time  the  Irishman  of  the  stage  had  been  a  noisy  turbulent 
fellow,  armed  with  a  shillelagh,  and  whose  chief  delight  was 
trailing  his  coat  on  the  ground  as  a  challenge  to  all  rivals.  In 
Power's  delineation  the  traditional  bully  was  superseded  by  a 
new  and  more  amusing  type.  The  Irishman  of  his  creation  was 
a  buoyant,  rollicking,  witty  creature,  always  ready  to  lend  a 
hand  for  any  honest  service,  and  whose  innate  pugnacity  was 
under  due  restraint  until  virtue  cried  for  succour,  or  crime 
demanded  punishment.  The  graceful  ease  and  vivacity  of  his 
acting,  whether  in  broadly  humorous  rdles  like  Paudeen 
O'Rafferty,  or  in  more  refined  impersonations  as  Sir  Pa 
trick  O'Plenipo,  were  wholly  irresistible.  In  England  and  the 
United  States  his  name  on  the  bills  was  a  sure  guarantee  of 
an  overflowing  house,  and  he  counted  his  followers  by  the 
legion.  In  private  life  Power  was  a  well-bred  and  polished 
man  of  the  world,  and  his  good  manners  and  sparkling  con 
versation  made  him  an  especial  favourite  in  the  best  society  on 
both  sides  of  the  Atlantic.  After  making  a  tour  of  the  States, 
he  published  a  racy  book  of  travels  which  displayed  acute 
observation  and  great  literary  skill. 

In  April  of  this  year  I  had  the  misfortune  to  lose  a  cousin  of 
the  same  name  as  myself  by  a  sad  accident.  He  was  thrown  from 
a  favourite  horse  when  out  for  his  daily  ride,  and  brought  home 
insensible.  I  happened  to  pass  his  house  when  a  carriage 
slowly  drew  up  to  the  door,  and  on  inquiry  found  to  my 
great  distress  what  had  occurred.  Physicians  were  immediately 
summoned,  but,  with  the  exception  of  a  broken  rib,  no  external 
damage  could  be  detected.  All  efforts  to  restore  him  to  con- 


70  Admission  to  the  Bar. 

sciousness  proved  unavailing,  and,  after  lying  for  some  hours  in 
a  comatose  state,  he  expired.  He  was  but  twenty-five,  an  only 
son,  and  adored  by  his  family.  I  was  walking  up  and  down  the 
room  with  his  father  scarcely  an  hour  before  the  funeral,  when  I 
discovered  that  no  portrait  of  him  existed,  which  was  an  addi 
tional  grief  to  his  afflicted  relatives.  I  hastened  instantly  to  a 
well-known  artist,  who  on  hearing  the  circumstances  accom 
panied  me  back  to  the  house,  took  a  sketch  in  pencil,  and  then 
made  a  cast  of  the  face,  from  which  he  executed  an  admirable 
likeness. 

I  mention  these  painful  incidents  as  they  lead  me  to  speak  of 
a  singular  occurrence  that  has  never  faded  from  my  recollection. 
I  should  mention  that,  though  I  lived  on  the  most  amicable 
footing  with  my  lamented  cousin,  we  were  never  associates  in  the 
familiar  sense.  He  was  of  a  somewhat  reserved  and  unsympa 
thetic  disposition,  as  I  thought,  and,  whilst  we  always  met  with 
pleasure,  we  never  courted  each  other's  society.  I  state  this  to 
explain  that,  though  I  was  greatly  shocked  at  his  affecting  death, 
I  was  not  plunged  in  the  deep  affliction  a  more  intimate  com 
panionship  would  have  entailed.  With  this  prelude  I  will  go  on 
to  relate  that,  on  the  night  of  the  funeral,  I  sat  down  after  mid 
night  in  my  bedroom  to  write  his  obituary,  as  was  then  the  custom. 

I  had  been  at  work  for  some  half  an  hour,  when  on  looking 
up  I  observed  to  my  amazement  my  buried  cousin  standing 
within  three  or  four  feet  of  the  table  where  I  was  sitting.  I  was 
convinced  on  the  instant  that  it  was  a  mere  delusion  ;  but  what 
perplexed  me  was  that  it  did  not  proceed  from  the  *  heat- 
oppressed  brain,'  for  I  was  perfectly  calm,  my  brow  cool,  and  my 
pulse  regular.  The  figure  was  clothed  in  white  drapery,  so  that 
I  could  discern  nothing  of  the  person  save  the  height,  which  was 
exact  The  face  was  distinctly  visible,  but  differing  from  his 
habitual  cold  and  almost  cynical  expression,  for  the  countenance 
was  benignant  and  sad.  After  rubbing  my  eyes,  and  smiling  at 
the  absurdity  of  such  a  phenomenon,  I  began  to  write  again, 
anticipating  that  the  vision  would  gradually  disappear.  When 
I  looked  up  after  a  time,  I  found  it  still  standing  in  the  same 
spot.  I  then  rose  and  went  to  the  window,  which  I  raised, 
and  gazed  up  and  down  the  deserted  streets  for  some  ten 
minutes,  thinking  the  cool  temperature  would  subdue  my 
evidently  disordered  fancy.  On  turning  round,  my  eyes  again 
encountered  the  pallid  apparition,  which  I  contemplated  steadily, 


Admission  to  the  Bar.  71 

wondering,  meanwhile,  at  the  singular  condition  of  my  mind 
that  could  conjure  up  a  phantom  when  in  my  normal  state,  my 
body  in  perfect  health,  and  my  reason  undisturbed  by  any 
emotion  of  a  poignant  character. 

Thoroughly  satisfied  that  I  was  the  victim  of  my  imagina 
tion,  and,  recalling  the  familiar  adage  of  Qui  vult  decipi,  decipiatur, 
I  repaired  a  second  time  to  the  window,  where  I  remained  for 
some  time,  till  quite  chilled  by  the  night  air.  The  experiment 
was  useless,  for  the  spectre  stood  its  ground  ;  and  now,  feeling 
too  disturbed  to  continue  writing,  I  took  up  my  lamp,  crossed 
the  room,  and  placed  it  on  a  table  adjoining  my  bed.  Before 
lying  down,  and  believing,  and  indeed  hoping,  that  by  this  time  my 
unwelcomeguest  had  departed,!  looked  again, and  discovered  that 
the  ghost,  as  I  almost  began  to  fancy  it  was,  had  turned  round,, 
and  was  regarding  me  with  just  the  same  expression  it  had  from: 
the  first.  '  Well,'  I  exclaimed  aloud,  '  this  is  too  droll  ;  but  I  won't 
give  it  up  ;'  and  I  grasped  my  book  when  in  bed,  as  was  my  habit,, 
and  went  on  reading  for  some  time  without  raising  my  eyes. 
Whenever  I  did,  however,  they  invariably  encountered  the  calm 
gaze  of  the  shadow.  At  last  I  extinguished  the  light,  expecting 
that  might  dispel  the  illusion  ;  but  no,  it  was  visible  as  before. 
Finally,  I  pulled  the  counterpane  over  my  head,  when,  to  my 
relief,  I  saw  it  no  more,  and  so  went  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning,  I  reflected  on  the  strange  incident  of  the 
previous  night,  and  marvelled  whether  '  my  eyes  were  the  fools 
of  the  other  senses,  or  worth  all  the  rest.'  I  hesitated  to  speak 
of  it  then,  from  dread  of  ridicule  ;  but  I  do  not  know  why  I 
should  not  speak  of  it  now,  to  show  that  an  hallucination  is  pos 
sible  even  under  conditions  apparently  unfavourable — with  the 
mind  well  poised,  and  the  nerves  under  complete  control.  I  did; 
not  then,  nor  ever  after,  believe  that  I  had  really  beheld  a  spirit 
from  the  other  world  ;  but  it  was  certainly  unaccountable  that, 
self-possessed  as  I  was,  I  should  be  compelled  to  struggle 
firmly  for  some  two  hours  to  overpower  a  fantasy,  and  then  fail. 

It  was  singular,  too,  that  when  my  back  was  turned  I  saw 
nothing  of  the  figure,  nor  yet  when  my  eyes  were  closed.  Me- 
thinks  a  mere  figment  of  the  brain  ought  to  have  been  visible  in 
either  case.  Since  that  period  I  have  lost  relatives  and  friends 
nearer  than  the  one  in  question,  and  causing  me  deeper  affliction, 
but  no  such  result  followed.  In  proof  that  I  am  not  the  only 
person  that  has  been  favoured  with  a  ghostly  visitor,  I  subjoin  the 


72  Admission  to  the  Bar. 

copy  of  a  letter  that  appeared  in  the  London  Observer  at  a  later 
date: 

'  Sir, — In  a  clever  leading  article  in  your  last  impression,  I  think  you  are  rather 
sweeping  in  your  remarks  on  no  one  ever  writing  to  the  Times  declaring  that  he  has 
seen  a  ghost.  The  ridicule  certain  to  be  thrown  upon  any  individual  publishing  such 
a  letter  in  his  own  name  is  quite  a  sufficient  deterrent.  But  the  subject  is  too  grave 
to  be  dismissed  with  mere  ridicule,  and  indeed  forms  a  great  part  of  our  whole  con 
nection  with  the  spiritual  world,  and  of  our  belief  in  the  immortality  of  the  soul. 

The  writer  of  this  never  had  any  mental  illness  ;  his  family  never  had  in  it  any 
eccentricity  or  other  departure  from  sound  mental  health.  He  has  never  had  any  fit, 
delusion,  or  hallucination — unless,  indeed,  sceptics  will  denounce  what  he  is  about  to 
relate  as  being  the  last.  Yet  he,  at  the  age  of  twenty,  sitting  reading  in  his  father's 
dining-room,  became  conscious  of  some  object  standing  at  the  side  of  his  chair,  and 
on  simply  turning  round  to  learn  what  that  object  might  be,  in  no  expectation  what 
ever  of  finding  a  supernatural  visitor,  was  astounded  to  perceive  a  tall  man,  wrapped 
in  a  Spanish  cloak,  and  wearing  a  broad-brimmed  slouched  hat,  standing  looking 
down  upon  him  with  a  most  benignant  expression.  It  is  impossible  to  convey  a 
sense  of  the  awe  inspired.  Changing  my  narrative  from  the  third  to  the  first  person, 
I  may,  however,  state  that  I  grasped  each  arm  of  my  chair  in  terror.  I  felt  my  hair 
rise  upon  my  head.  My  tongue  seemed  to  cleave  to  the  roof  of  my  mouth,  and  my 
limbs  were  deprived  of  all  motion.  The  word  "terror,"  however,  does  not  convey 
my  meaning  ;  perhaps  fascination  is  a  better  term.  What  we  call  "  terror"  only 
supervened  upon  the  gradual  disappearance  of  the  object,  melting  away  slowly  and 
with  a  retreating  motion.  When  it  had  finally  disappeared,  then,  and  not  until  then, 
common  fear  or  terror,  and  the  natural  instinct  to  flee,  seized  me,  and  I  fled  into  an 
adjacent  apartment.  I  may  mention  that  both  of  the  doors  in  the  dining-room  were 
closely  shut,  and  that  through  one  of  these  the  figure  seemed  to  pass,  never  removing 
the  gaze  of  its  eyes  from  mine. 

I  am  quite  prepared  for  the  common  objections,  such  as  to  the  dress  worn  by  this 
ghost  or  spectre.  It  is  by  some  considered  quite  unanswerable  to  ask  :  Admitting 
that  the  souls  of  the  departed  have  the  power  of  revisiting  the  earth,  have  clothes  a 
soul  also  to  appear  in?  On  the  other  hand,  it  maybe  asked  :  If  the  spirits  of  de 
parted  men  have  any  such  power,  is  it  illogical  to  suppose  that  they  will  so  appear 
in  garments  as  mortals  wear,  and  not  in  a  form  of  which  we  can  have  no  knowledge 
or  conception  ?  Whatever  may  be  said,  I  merely  narrate  a  fact  with  all  the  solemnity 
of  conscientious  truth.  I  should  desire  to  draw  the  special  attention  of  your  readers 
to  the  circumstances  that,  at  the  first,  I  had  no  spectral  form  possibly  deceiving  my 
eye,  through  some  excitement  of  the  retina  or  other  causes.  On  the  contrary,  I  had 
the  consciousness  of  something  being  at  my  side  for  some  few  seconds  while  I  was 
engaged  in  reading,  and  only  saw  what  that  something  was  on  naturally  turning  round 
to  learn  what  it  was. 

I  enclose  my  card  (by  which  you  will  see  that  I  am  a  man  well  known  to  the 
public,  not  as  a  spiritualist  or  similar  speculatist,  but  as  an  exact  mechanician)  as  a 
guarantee  for  good  faith,  but  not  for  publication.'* 

Before  the  summer  set  in  I  thought  it  would  be  a  sensible 
thing  to  take  a  run  out  West,  which  would  complete  my  know 
ledge  of  the  United  States  of  that  day.  Accordingly,  in  early 

*  In  these  days  of  mediums,'  spirits  have  become  such  familiar  personages  that 
many  people  may  be  found  to  put  credence  in  the  two  stories  above  related.  For  my 
part,  without  affecting  utter  scepticism,  and  yet  proof  against  all  superstitious  ten 
dencies,  I  have  since  really  witnessed  phenomena  so  far  beyond  solution  or  com 
prehension  that  I  have  been  forced  to  adopt  the  tolerant  view  of  Hamlet,  that 

'  There  are  more  things  in  heaven  and  earth,  Horatio, 
Than  are  dreamt  of  in  our  philosophy.' 


Admission  to  the  Bar.  73 

May  1834,  accompanied  by  my  friend  Williams,  I  took  the  rail 
way  for  Columbia,  some  sixty  miles  from  Philadelphia,  which 
was  then  the  only  one  in  Pennsylvania.  At  its  termination  I  had 
no  alternative  but  the  stage-coach,  more  hideous  than  ever  after 
tasting  the  sweets  of  railway  travelling.  At  the  close  of  a  journey 
of  near  three  days  and  nights,  we  reached  Pittsburg,  a  small  but 
thriving  town,  begrimed  with  smoke,  and  emitting  an  odour  very 
repugnant  to  a  nose  unaccustomed  to  the  fumes  of  bituminous 
coal.  I  was  charmed,  like  all  travellers,  with  its  lovely  situa 
tion,  nestling  at  the  foot  of  lofty  mountains,  then  decked  in 
the  brilliant  foliage  of  spring,  and  encircled  by  two  noble  rivers. 
After  a  visit  to  three  or  four  of  the  foundries,  constituting  the 
whole  attraction  of  the  place,  I  took  a  steamboat  for  St.  Louis, 
descending  the  Ohio  river,  which  I  found  worthy  of  all  the 
encomiums  lavished  upon  it. 

At  the  confluence  of  the  Ohio  and  Mississippi  rivers  I  was 
struck  by  the  singular  contrast  in  the  two  streams  :  the  one  of 
crystal  purity  ;  and  the  other  turbid  with  the  sediment  of  the 
many  soils,  swept  away  by  its  rapid  current  making  for  the  sea. 
St.  Louis  was  rather  an  insignificant  town  of  barely  ten  thousand 
people,  and  its  principal  hotel  was  a  wooden  building  of  scant 
accommodation.  Half  a  day  sufficed  for  its  inspection.  I  brought 
letters  for  Mr.  Chouteau,  the  nabob  of  the  place,  and  I  spent 
an  hour  with  him  pleasantly  in  talking  over  the  prospects  of 
St.  Louis.  He  was  sanguine  of  its  future.  Its  situation  was 
certainly  fortunate,  occupying  a  central  position  between  the 
Atlantic  and  Pacific  Oceans  east  and  west,  and  the  great  lakes 
and  the  Mexican  Gulf  north  and  south. 

Its  situation  on  one  of  the  great  rivers  of  the  world  afforded 
unrivalled  facilities  for  trade  ;  and  sooner  or  later  an  iron  band 
was  sure  to  connect  it  with  the  Atlantic  cities.  Just  at  this 
time  people  were  beginning  to  discuss  the  destinies  of  the  '  Far 
West,'  almost  hesitating  to  include  Missouri  in  that  designation, 
as  it  stood  on  the  very  confines  of  civilisation.  Shrewd  specu- 
ators  were  buying  land  in  Indiana  and  Illinois,  in  the  neigh 
bourhood  of  towns  likely  to  grow  ;  and  some  bolder  than  the 
rest  thought  that  even  lots  in  St.  Louis  might  turn  out  a  good 
investment. 

Excited  by  the  eloquent  vaticinations  of  Mr.  Chouteau,  I 
was  half  tempted  to  purchase  a  few  acres  surrounding  the  small 
town  I  was  then  visiting ;  but  the  chances  of  its  expansion 


74  Admission  to  the  Bar. 

seemed  so  distant,  if  not  dubious,  that  I  concluded  it  better  to 
content  myself  with  six  per  cent  in  Philadelphia.  During  my  short 
stay  I  drove  out  to  the  Mamelles  Prairie,  and  my  fancy  was  busy 
with  the  mysteries  of  the  unpenetrated  region  beyond,  almost 
as  little  known  as  the  interior  of  Africa,  whose  sole  denizens  were 
the  Indian  and  the  buffalo. 

On  my  return  eastwards  I  visited  Louisville  and  Cincinnati, 
bustling  and  robust  infants,  as  yet  unconscious  of  future  great 
ness  ;  but  finding  nothing  in  either  to  detain  me  beyond  a  day 
or  two,  I  took  the  steamer  up  the  Ohio,  and  landed  at  Wyan- 
dotte,  with  a  view  to  inspecting  the  marvels  of  West  Virginia, 
already  famous.  I  '  supped  full'  of  the  gorgeous  beauty  of  this 
wonderful  region  ;  but  after  straining  my  eyes  and  exhausting 
my  enthusiasm  for  a  couple  of  days,  I  began  to  grow  somewhat 
insensible  to  the  charms  of  natural  scenery  unrivalled  in  the 
world.  I  was  sleeping  soundly  on  the  third  morning,  when  I 
was  awoke  by  my  excited  fellow-passengers  in  the  stage-coach, 
and  bade  to  get  out  to  contemplate  the  '  Hawk's  Nest.'  I  was 
quite  indignant  at  being  disturbed  ;  but  when  I  raised  my  half- 
closed  eyes  to  the  soaring  pinnacle  thus  denominated,  just  then 
glittering  in  the  bright  rays  of  the  rising  sun,  my  vexation  dis 
solved  in  wonder  and  delight.  I  have  never  beheld  a  spectacle 
in  Nature  to  surpass  that  in  grandeur. 

I  got  back  to  Philadelphia  in  the  first  days  of  June,  and  with 
out  losing  a  moment  began  looking  carefully  over  my  law-books, 
to  prepare  for  my  examination  for  admission  to  the  bar,  now 
rapidly  approaching.  I  felt  no  great  trepidation,  however,  for  I 
had  really  worked  diligently ;  and  though  I  was  liable  to  be 
catechised  on  any  one  of  the  numerous  and  knotty  books  I  had 
been  reading  for  the  last  three  years,  I  felt  pretty  sure  of  giving 
intelligible  answers. 

The  day  came,  and  I  appeared  before  the  legal  Board,  with 
several  of  my  colleagues  in  Mr.  Ingersoll's  office,  and,  after  being 
severely  and  cruelly  probed  for  some  hours  at  two  different 
sittings,  was  informed  in  due  course  that  I  was  at  liberty  to  dub 
myself  an  Attorney-at-law,  privileged  to  practise  in  the  courts  of 
Pennsylvania,  and  was  gazetted  accordingly. 

There  was  now  no  obstacle  to  my  departure  for  Europe,  and 
my  heart  bounded  at  the  prospect.  All  my  life  I  had  felt  an 
indescribable  longing  to  see  the  Old  World,  fraught  with  the 
memories  of  so  many  illustrious  men,  and  the  scene  of  such  soul- 


Admission  to  the  Bar.  75 

stirring  events.     The  near  fruition  of  my  wishes  filled  me  with 
joy.     I  panted  for  the  hour  of  embarkation. 

In  the  middle  of  August  I  went  on  to  New  York,  to  attend 
a  farewell  dinner  tendered  to  our  celebrated  tragedian,  Edwin 
Forrest,  by  his  friends  and  admirers,  on  his  departure  for 
Europe.  He  declared  he  was  going  abroad  merely  as  a  tra 
veller,  and  meant  to  decline  all  professional  engagements,  as 
he  was  content  with  his  reputation  at  home.  I  accompanied 
him  on  board  the  '  Sully/  bound  for  Havre,  and  promised  to 
join  him  in  Paris  before  the  end  of  October. 

I  was  not  fifteen  when  I  first  met  Forrest,  who  was  a  fre 
quent  guest  at  my  guardian's  house — one  of  his  warmest  friends 
and  patrons.  His  geniality,  warm  heart,  and  bounding  spirits 
quite  captivated  my  youthful  fancy  ;  but  my  love  of  the  stage 
inspired  me  with  the  deepest  reverence  for  one  of  its  greatest 
heroes.  His  career  had  been  marvellously  rapid.  He  was  but 
fourteen  when  he  appeared  in  Philadelphia,  his  native  town,  as 
Young  Norval ;  only  twenty  when  he  played  second  to  the 
elder  Kean  in  Albany,  New  York.  His  acting  made  so  favour 
able  an  impressipn  on  the  illustrious  English  tragedian  that,  at 
the  close  of  the  engagement,  he  made  a  parting  speech  to  the 
dawning  aspirant  to  this  effect :  '  Young  man,'  said  Kean,  <  you 
have  great  talent.  If  you  attend  to  your  business,  and  are  not 
spoiled  by  flattery,  you  will  rise  to  the  top  of  your  profession.' 
Forrest  often  declared  these  words  from  the  great  master  of 
his  art  sank  deep  in  his  mind,  and  filled  him  with  hope. 

He  made  his  first  great  'hit'  in  New  York  in  1827,  and  from 
that  time  his  rise  to  eminence  was  steady  and  onward.  Some 
three  years  later  he  appeared  in  an  original  play,  entitled  Meta- 
mora,  written  by  Augustus  Stone.  Though  not  remarkable 
for  literary  merit,  it  was  full  of  dramatic  vigour.  It  gave  a 
striking  delineation  of  the  intrepidity  and  craft  of  our  Puritan 
forefathers  in  their  efforts  to  secure  a  footing  on  the  land  they 
had  invaded.  The  hero  Metamora,  a  chieftain  of  an  Indian 
tribe,  was  an  admirable  portrait  of  the  noble  savage  of  that 
epoch — frank,  fearless,  and  statuesque.  Forrest's  imitation  of 
Indian  peculiarities  in  walk,  attitude,  and  utterance  was  singu 
larly  accurate  ;  and  he  threw  such  power  into  the  impersonation 
as  to  electrify  the  thousands  who  thronged  to  witness  it.  All 
over  the  country  this  remarkable  performance  filled  the  theatres 
to  overflowing. 


76  Admission  to  the  Bar. 

His  success  was  even  greater  in  another  original  play,  the 
Gladiator,  written  by  Dr.  R.  M.  Bird  of  Philadelphia,  and 
founded  on  the  history  of  Spartacus,  the  leader  in  a  servile 
war  against  Rome,  73  B.C.  A  French  tragedy  on  the  same 
subject  was  composed  by  Saurin  in  1746.  Dr.  Bird's  play  was 
written  with  great  elegance,  and  possessed  the  more  essential 
merit  of  strong  dramatic  situations.  Forrest's  acting  in  the 
chief  role  was  the  most  conclusive  proof  yet  given  of  his  his 
trionic  genius.  His  conception  was  full  of  originality ;  and  in 
every  detail  he  was  imposing,  picturesque,  and  often  rose  to 
sublimity.  The  same  enthusiasm  was  roused  in  the  country  by 
his  acting  in  the  Gladiator  as  in  his  previous  creation. 

He  was  vastly  admired  in  the  tragedies  of  Shakespeare  ;  but 
the  two  plays  in  which  I  thought  him  quite  unapproachable 
were  Banim's  Damon  and  Pythias,  and  the  truly  exquisite 
tragedy  of  Virginius,  by  Sheridan  Knowles.  He  seemed  in 
tended  by  nature  as  the  representative  of  classic  heroes :  tall, 
massive,  and  admirably  proportioned  ;  a  noble  countenance ;  a 
magnificent  organ  ;  exceeding  grace  and  dignity  of  movement 
This  was  an  ensemble  that  few  great  tragedians,  if  any,  ever 
possessed.  The  dominant  trait  of  his  acting  was  its  thorough 
irresistible  earnestness.  His  bursts  of  passion  were  so  natural, 
and  often  appalling,  that  the  audience  quailed  before  them,  quite 
forgetting  that  it  was  only  simulated  fury.  This  was  the  secret 
of  his  absolute  sway .  over  the  masses  that  lasted  through  his 
whole  career.  Edmund  Kean  once  boasted  that  '  The  pit  rose 
at  me.'  This  happened  to  Forrest  not  once,  but  a  hundred 
times. 

In  a  few  short  years  he  accumulated  a  considerable  fortune, 
and,  wearied  by  incessant  labour,  he  decided  on  a  trip  to 
Europe,  chiefly  for  rest,  but  in  the  hope  likewise  that  he  might 
derive  profit  from  studying  examples  of  foreign  excellence  in 
his  art. 

On  my  return  to  Philadelphia  I  set  joyously  to  work  to 
prepare  for  my  foreign  peregrinations.  I  made  a  round  of 
parting  calls,  and  was  cheered  by  a  thousand  kind  wishes. 
Letters  of  introduction  flowed  in  upon  me  apace.  Vice- 
President  Van  Buren  fulfilled  his  courteous  offer,  and  sent 
me  numerous  missives  to  our  Ministers  abroad.  The  British 
Consul  in  Philadelphia,  Gilbert  Robertson,  whom  I  had  known, 
from  boyhood,  recommended  me  cordially  to  many  of  his  Eng- 


Admission  to  the  Bar.  77 

lish  friends,  and,  amongst  the  rest,  to  James  Dunlop,  Russell- 
square,  London. 

Amid  these  pleasant  occupations  September  flitted  quickly  by, 
and  I  took  my  passage  in  the  packet  of  the  i6th  of  October  from 
New  York  to  Havre.  My  friend  Williams,  who  had  accompanied 
me  in  my  journeys  over  the  United  States,  agreed  to  join  me  in 
my  European  tour.  This  was  a  great  satisfaction,  for  he  was 
an  agreeable  companion  and  an  indefatigable  traveller. 

In  the  height  of  my  exhilaration  I  was  not  without  emotion  as 
the  hour  of  my  departure  approached.,  I  was  fervently  attached 
to  my  native  land,  and  naturally  proud  of  the  prominence  it  had 
already  acquired.  It  was  a  young  country,  but  even  then  the 
eyes  of  the  world  were  directed  towards  it,  for  a  new  political 
experiment  had  been  inaugurated  here.  Hitherto  the  intellec 
tual  few  had  governed  the  ignorant  many,  but  solely  to  their 
own  advantage,  and  regardless  of  the  interests  of  the  mass.  A 
bold  attempt  to  reverse  the  history  of  the  world  was  undertaken 
by  the  United  States.  The  people  proposed  to  control  their 
delegates  in  office,  and  prevent  them  from  sacrificing  the  interests 
of  the  many  to  the  aggrandisement  of  the  more  limited  number. 
The  problem  depended  on  the  sagacity  of  the  American  people. 
Would  they  be  a  match  for  the  political  class  ?  In  the  past  the 
multitude  had  never  proved  so,  either  in  ancient  or  modern  times. 
To  be  sure,  the  Americans  were  endowed  with  a  political  acumen 
no  other  people  ever  possessed.  Their  forefathers  came  from 
England  convinced  that  it  was  possible  to  create  a  government 
in  the  interest  of  the  masses.  In  their  own  country  the  obstacles 
at  the  time  were  too  formidable  to  attempt  it,  and  they  selected 
a  new  hemisphere  to  launch  it.  Their  children  have  been 
faithful  guardians  of  the  dogma,  which  thus  far  had  worked  well. 
No  class  or  individual  had  yet  contrived  to  blind  or  mislead  them. 
No  army  had  sprung  up  which,  in  the  hands  of  an  ambitious 
general,  might  compel  obedience.  Happily  we  were  masters  of 
our  territory,  and  required  no  army  for  protection.  No  laws  had 
been  enacted  that  favoured  one  section  at  the  expense  of  the  rest, 
though  the  South  now  alleged  that  New  England  had  stolen 
a  march  upon  it,  and  had  built  up  a  tariff  which  was  dam 
aging  to  its  welfare.  If  this  became  apparent,  the  impartial 
majority  would  modify  legislation  proved  to  be  unjust. 

Thus  far  enlightened  opinion  dominated  the  land,  and  neither 
individuals,  nor  classes,  norGovernment,  State  or  Federal,dreamed. 


7  8  Admission  to  the  Bar. 

of  defying  it.  '  While  the  Coliseum  stands,  Rome  shall  stand/ 
While  public  opinion  was  omnipotent,  the  United  States  would 
be  indestructible.  For  public  opinion  means  the  sane  judgment 
of  the  many  against  the  ignorance  or  folly  of  the  erring  few.  Yet 
we  were  but  young  as  a  nation.  Men  were  still  honest,  and 
women  virtuous.  What  would  be  our  fate  should  we  become 
populous  and  rich  ?  Should  we  stand  proof  against  vice  and 
corruption  ?  Would  morals  decline  ?  would  principle  yield  to 
temptation  ?  would  the  lines  of  the  Roman  poet  ever  become 
current  here  ?  , 

'Get  wealth  and  power — if  possible,  with  grace  ; 
If  not,  by  any  means  get  wealth  and  place.'* 

Would  the  selfish  passions  of  our  nature  be  kept  in  check  ?  If 
not,  then  the  theory  of  free  and  equal  government  would  turn 
out  a  fallacy,  and  our  Puritan  ancestors  might  just  as  well  have 
stayed  at  home. 

I  passed  two  or  three  days  in  New  York  before  embark 
ing,  and  attended  a  party  at  the  mansion  in  Leonard-street 
of  General  Morgan  Lewis,  formerly  Governor  of  the  State,  and 
a  perfect  model  of  the  '  fine  old  American  gentleman/  I  met 
my  quondam  fellow-travellers,  the  gorgeous  Mrs.  Coster  and  her 
sprightly  sister  Mrs.  Livingston,  and  they  congratulated  me 
heartily  on  all  the  enjoyment  in  store  for  me.  A  beautiful  girl 
of  most  engaging  manners,  a  daughter  of  Mr.  Maturin  Living 
ston,  was  the  belle  of  the  evening. 

*  Horace,  versified  by  Pope. 


CHAPTER  IX 

PARIS. 

A  FAST  VOYAGE FIRST  IMPRESSIONS — A  STRANGE  PEOPLE,   WITH  STRANGE  WAYS 

— ASTONISHED  AND  OFTEN  PERPLEXED. 

EARLY  on  the  morning  of  the  i6th  October  I  left  the  Washing 
ton  Hotel,  then  a  fashionable  resort,  and  embarked  in  the  good 
ship  'Silvie  de  Grasse,'  1200  tons  burden,  one  of  the  finest 
packets  of  the  Havre  line.  With  a  fair  wind  we  soon  got  to  sea, 
and  then  I  began  to  turn  my  attention  to  my  fellow-passengers. 
They  numbered  about  twenty  ;  but  one  after  another  they  began 
rapidly  to  disappear,  and  for  two  or  three  days  the  greater  part 
were  occupied  in  rendering  to  Neptune  the  tribute  exacted  of 
untried  sailors,  though,  happily,  I  was  one  of  the  fortunate 
exempt,  and  blessed  my  stars  at  my  escape.  By  degrees  the 
dinner-table  began  to  fill  up,  and  buoyant  spirits  returned  with 
good  appetites  and  tranquil  stomachs.  The  Havre  packets  were 
famous  for  their  French  cooks,  and  the  cuisine  was  not  only  a 
novelty,  but  a  temptation  that  frequently  overcame  my  discretion. 
In  all  my  life  I  had  never  made  such  hearty  meals  ;  and  whether 
it  was  breakfast,  lunch,  dinner,  or  supper,  the  bell  no  sooner 
sounded  than  I  was  ready  for  action. 

In  those  days  the  travel  to  Europe  was  very  limited.  Some 
went  on  business,  but  the  greater  number  were  people  of  fortune 
in  quest  of  amusement,  and  bent  on  an  inspection  of  the  Old 
World  and  its  wonders.  Consequently  a  long  voyage  with  such 
surroundings  was  pleasant,  and  often  delightful.  Friendships 
were  contracted,  and  frequently  were  sown  seeds  of  matrimony 
that  a  shorter  transit  would  have  precluded.  In  the  evening  our 
pretty  saloon  had  all  the  appearance  of  a  family  drawing-room, 
so  sociable  and  familiar  was  the  tone.  Everybody  knew  where 
ail  had  come  from  and  whither  they  were  bound.  The  greater 
number  engaged  in  conversation,  telling  anecdotes,  relating  ex 
periences,  and  pronouncing  opinions.  Some  were  occupied  with 
cards,  and  the  ladies  grouped  around  the  piano.  Day  and  night 
one  topic  took  precedence  of  all  others,  the  state  of  the  weather 


8o  Paris. 

This  was  an  endless  source  of  comment  and  conjecture.  The  first 
inquiry  in  the  morning,  and  the  last  on  '  turning  in/  was  the 
direction  of  the  wind,  as  our  fate  depended  on  its  caprices. 

Boreas  was  benignant,  and  we  had  a  splendid  run  of  twenty 
days.  On  the  5th  November  we  dashed  into  our  haven  and 
furled  our  sails.  Havre  had  an  ancient  and  original  aspect  that 
scattered  at  once  all  my  previous  imaginings.  My  gaze  fell 
immediately  on  an  old  fort  at  the  mouth  of  the  harbour,  built  in 
the  reign  of  Francis  I.,  over  three  centuries  ago,  and  it  reminded 
me  of  the  extreme  youth  of  the  country  I  had  just  left.  On 
landing,  my  eyes  were  attracted  by  a  mass  of  novelties  that  were 
quite  bewildering.  The  Custom-house  officers  were  all  in  uni 
form,  and  with  a  decided  military  .  air.  In  rear  of  these  were 
drawn  up  a  motley  crowd,  all  eager  for  a  job,  the  men  clothed  in 
blue  smock-frocks,  and  the  women,  quite  as  numerous,  attired  in 
short  worsted  skirts  of  all  colours,  their  heads  surmounted  by  caps 
of  startling  altitude,  and  their  feet  incased  in  wooden  shoes. 
The  whole  pack  were  jabbering  with  frantic  vehemence,  and 
in  a  dialect  beyond  all  comprehension.  The  vehicles  about  were 
of  a  nondescript  pattern,  and  the  very  horses  seemed  unlike  any 
of  their  kind  I  had  ever  seen  before. 

On  repairing  to  the  hotel,  I  ascended  a  stone  staircase  very 
much  worn,  and  found  the  floors  without  carpets,  and  polished 
with  wax,  making  the  footing  of  a  novice  very  insecure.  The 
food  was  excellent,  but  christened  with  mysterious  names,  which 
I  swallowed  on  trust,  quite  ignorant,  for  the  most  part,  of  what 
I  was  consuming.  The  beds  were  delicious,  but  topped  with  a 
canopy  and  enveloped  in  curtains.  In  short,  in  whatever  way  I 
turned,  all  was  new,  odd,  and  confusing.  My  first  day  in  Havre 
yielded  sensation  enough  to  live  on  for  a  year. 

I  was  too  impatient  to  see  Paris  to  linger  at  an  outpost,  and 
secured  places  in  the  diligence  for  the  morning  of  the  /th.  This 
was  the  stage-coach  of  France,  and  the  only  mode  of  travelling 
except  in  a  private  carriage  with  post-horses,  renewed  every  ten 
miles  at  the  post-houses.  But  this  was  an  expensive  luxury.  I 
considered  la  diligence  the  greatest  curiosity  I  had  yet  seen,  and 
wondered  the  name  of  its  inventor  had  ever  died.  It  was 
divided  into  three  compartments  at  different  prices.  The  coupe 
in  front,  with  three  places,  was  the  dearest  ;  the  interieur  in  the 
middle,  with  six  places,  was  next  in  price  ;  and  the  rotonde  be 
hind,  holding  as  many,  was  the  cheapest  On  the  top,  besides 


Paris.  8 1 

the  luggage,  were  conveyed  endless  parcels  of  merchandise,  the 
whole  covered  over  with  a  leather  cape  securely  fastened  down. 
Nothing  could  be  more  uncouth-looking,  and  it  had  a  top-heavy 
appearance  anything  but  reassuring.  The  most  skilful  driving, 
I  heard,  did  not  prevent  it  occasionally  tumbling  over,  and  great 
was  the  fall  thereof.  It  was  drawn  by  five '  horses,  two  wheelers 
and  three  leaders  abreast,  all  of  Norman  breed,  stout,  strong,  and 
very  noisy,  like  everything  else  in  France.  They  wore  bells 
about  their  necks,  and  their  tails  were  neatly  plaited.  The  har 
ness  was  grotesque  beyond  description.  I  contemplated  all 
these  details  on  the  morning  of  our  departure  with  lively  inter 
est  ;  and  when  the  word  was  given  Williams  and  I  jumped  into 
the  coupJ,  and  away  we  went  with  a  shouting,  clattering,  jingling, 
and  rumbling  that  brought  every  head  in  the  street  to  the 
windows  to  see  la  diligence  pass,  evidently  one  of  the  events  of 
the  day  in  Havre. 

I  should  not  omit  to  mention  the  conducteury  who  rose  to  the 
rank  of  generalissimo  the  moment  the  diligence  started.  His 
authority  was  supreme  over  everybody  in  it  and  everything  on 
it.  He  paid  the  postillions  at  every  relay  ;  answered  all  ques 
tions  ;  gave  the  signal  en  route — Anglice,  '  Go  ahead  ;'  never 
omitting  to  kiss  all  the  pretty  girls  before  starting,  nor  refusing 
the  liberal  gratuities  of  the  passengers  on  arriving.  One  might 
be  worse  off  in  the  world  than  a  conducteur,  was  my  inward  con 
clusion. 

We  were  twenty-four  hours  on  the  road,  stopping  half  an 
hour  for  dinner  and  breakfast.  I  scarcely  slept  a  wink  the 
whole  way  for  excitement ;  and  when  we  entered  Paris  about 
IQ  A.M.  my  emotions  were  overpowering.  I  wonder  I  did  not 
ruin  my  eyes  by  straining  them  unnaturally.  Of  all  the  cities  of 
the  world,  I  was  most  eager  to  see  this  renowned  metropolis, 
whose  history  was  so  full  of  startling  and  terrible  episodes.  We 
took  rooms  at  Meurice's  Hotel,  Rue  de  Rivoli,  facing  the  gar 
dens  of  the  Tuileries,  with  the  palace  in  full  view. 

I  planted  myself  in  the  window,  and  gazed  at  these  thrilling 
relics  with  an  intensity  I  had  never  before  experienced,  regard 
less  of  the  frantic  exclamations  of  Williams  that  our  breakfast 
was  getting  cold.  If  there  is  a  trait  of  my  composition  that 
transcends  all  the  rest,  it  is  a  veneration  for  the  past.  The 
men  and  events  of  other  epochs  are  invested  with  a  halo,  in  my 
eyes,  that  partakes  of  the  sacred.  It  often  seemed  to  me  I  lived 

G 


82  Pans. 

more  in  the  past  than  the  present.  I  could  linger  and  contem 
plate  an  edifice,  or  a  tomb  associated  with  a  great  name,  for 
hours  together.  I  would  conjure  up  all  the  moving  incidents  of 
their  history,  until  I  could  almost  fancy  myself  an  eye-witness. 
Of  all  enjoyments,  this  to  me  was  the  quintessence.  In  my 
own  country  I  gave  way  to  this  weakness  whenever  I  could 
find  a  pretext  or  an  object  to  gratify  it.  Over  and  over  again 
I  have  visited  the  room  in  the  State  House  of  Philadelphia 
where  the  Congress  of  1776  assembled.  Sitting  down,  I  would 
abandon  myself  to  my  heated  imagination,  till  methought  the 
great  men  of  that  day  stood  before  me.  I  could  almost  hear  the 
ringing  voice  of  John  Adams  when  he  cried,  '  Sink  or  swim,  live 
or  die,  survive  or  perish,  I  am  for  the  Declaration/  Yet  this  was 
only  in  the  last  century  ;  whereas  yonder  palace  was  built  by 
Catherine  de'  Medicis  in  the  sixteenth  century,  and  those  beau 
tiful  gardens  were  laid  out  by  Louis  XIV.  in  the  seventeenth 
century.  Since  then  what  tremendous  scenes  have  been  con 
nected  with  both  !  Why,  it  was  only  a  few  years  ago — 1830 
— that  an  infuriated  mob  invaded  the  Tuileries  for  the  second 
time,  and  drove  forth  to  exile  the  elder  branch  of  the  Bourbon 
dynasty.  It  was  only — 

'  What  in  Heaven's  name  are  you  about  ?'  shouted  the  irre 
pressible  Williams,  rushing  in.  '  Have  you  gone  daft  ?  The 
omelette  is  ruined,  and  the  coffee  is  not  fit  to  drink.' 

I  bade  an  abrupt  adieu  to  my  musings,  and  followed  my 
indignant  friend,  full  of  contrition  for  the  outrage  I  had  com 
mitted. 

The  next  day  I  gave  way  to  my  feverish  impulses,  and  for 
a  month  I  attacked  in  every  direction  the  wonders,  curiosities, 
and  marvels  of  this  intoxicating  capital.  Galleries,  museums, 
and  palaces  ;  pictures,  statues,  and  tapestries  ;  the  window  of 
the  Louvre  whence  Charles  IX.  fired  on  the  victims  of  the  St. 
Bartholomew  massacre  ;  the  site  of  the  Bastille  ;  the  cell  in  the 
Conciergerie  where  the  unhappy  Marie  Antoinette  passed  her  last 
miserable  hours  ;  the  room  in  the  same  prison  where  the 
Girondists  sang  and  danced  the  night  before  their  execution  ; 
the  spot  where  Louis  XVI.  was  beheaded,  and  where  Madame 
Roland  uttered  her  dying  exclamation,  *  O  Liberty,  what  crimes 
are  committed  in  thy  name  !'  the  street  where  the  infernal  ma 
chine  was  levelled  against  the  great  Napoleon  ;  the  door  of  the 
opera-house  where  the  Duke  de  Berri  was  assassinated ; — all 


Paris.  •  83 

these  and  more  I  contemplated  and  gloated  on  during  my  first 
weeks  in  Paris,  and  underwent  emotions  the  strongest,  strangest, 
deepest  of  my  life.  At  length  I  began  by  degrees  to  cool  down, 
and  struggled  to  divert  my  mind  from  the  teeming  past,  and  to 
direct  it  to  the  living  realities  about  me. 

If  I  had  been  suddenly  shot  out  of  a  mortar  into  another 
sphere  of  existence,  I  could  not  have  been  more  bewildered  than 
I  was  at  the  amazing  contrast  before  me  to  all  I  had  hitherto- 
seen  and  known.  It  was  impossible  to  conceive  anything  more 
unlike  the  sober  town  of  Philadelphia,  its  sedate  inhabitants 
and  decorous  ways,  in  the  year  1834,  than  this  gay,  frivolous, 
thoughtless  city,  with  its  picturesque  costumes,  its  curious  habits, 
startling  usages,  and  whirl  of  amusements.  I  was  entertained, 
astonished,  and  frequently  shocked.  Up  to  this  time  I  had  but 
one  standard  of  right  and  wrong,  which  was  that  of  the  country 
of  my  nativity.  I  had  American,  nay,  more  stringent  still, 
Philadelphian,  notions  of  what  was  proper,  decent,  and  moral, 
and  these  were  daily  put  to  flight  by  all  that  was  passing  around 
me. 

At  first  I  was  inclined  to  regard  the  French  as  the  most  in 
delicate  and  licentious  people  the  sun  ever  shone  upon  ;  but 
further  reflection  convinced  me  of  the  truth  of  the  French  pro 
verb,  Chaque  pays  chaque  mode  —  that  '  Every  country  has  its 
customs,'  founded  on  its  history,  antecedents,  and  character.  It 
would  have  been  absurd  to  expect  the  streets  of  all  other  towns 
to  run  at  right  angles  as  in  Philadelphia,  and  it  would  have  been 
equally  preposterous  to  censure  the  French  because  their  ways 
and  notions  were  the  antipodes  of  what  I  was  habituated  to.  By 
degrees  I  began  to  discover  they  had  merits  and  charms  entitled 
to  admiration. 

The  politeness  of  the  French  was  wonderful.  I  expected  it  of 
the  higher  classes  ;  but  the  manners  and  courtesy  of  the  common 
people  astonished  me.  Their  universal  intelligence,  too,  was  no 
less  striking,  and  equally  so  were  the  facility  and  elegance  with 
which  all,  upper  and  lower,  expressed  themselves.  Their  aplomb \ 
easy  graceful  bearing,  and  never-failing  vivacity  were  additional 
attractions  so  irresistible,  as  to  make  me  feel  more  and  more 
that  the  French  had  not  achieved  their  position  in  the  world 
without  deserving  it. 

It  was  plain  they  were  a  vain  people — that  revealed  itself  a 
thousand  times  in  a  thousand  ways  ;  but  after  a  time  I  came  to 


84  Paris. 

the  conclusion  that  perhaps  they  did  not  sin  in  that  respect 
much  more  than  other  countries,  only  they  took  less  pains  to 
conceal  it.  It  was  this  vanity,  doubtless,  that  impelled  them  to 
dress,  walk,  talk,  and  attitudinise  so  well  ;  that  stimulated  them 
to  eclipse,  if  possible,  all  other  nations,  from  cookery  to  glory. 
It  has  often  struck  me  that  vanity,  like  the  mainspring  of  a 
watch,  gives  impetus  to  the  whole  organism,  and  that  they 
who  have  most  always  accomplish  more  than  those  who  have 
least. 

For  a  long  time  I  used  to  regard  the  French  as  silly  and 
frivolous  to  seek  amusement  in  the  merest  trifles.  I  was  dis 
posed  to  ridicule  their  trite  phrase  of  Vive  la  bagatelle  !  but  on 
closer  observation  I  concluded  there  was  wisdom  in  this  appa 
rent  childishness,  since,  if  diversion  is  to  be  found  in  simple 
things,  why  refuse  to  be  amused  ?  If  we  abide  always  till 
something  very  humorous  comes  to  pass,  we  lose  many  a  smile 
and  many  a  pleasant  moment.  This  the  French  never  do.  To 
envelop  ourselves  in  a  stately  dignity,  and  stalk  contemptuously 
by  what  the  French  look  and  laugh  at,  is  to  throw  away  chances 
of  harmless  mirth  never  recovered,  and  which  tend  to  lubricate 
the  inevitable  friction  of  life.* 

Another  dreadful  blow  to  my  untutored  mind  was  the  sacri 
legious  manner,  as  I  deemed  it,  that  the  Parisians  treated  the 
Sabbath.  Instead  of  regarding  it  as  a  day  of  rest  and  prayer,  as 
I  had  been  taught,  they  looked  upon  it  as  one  of  recreation  after 
the  labours  of  the  week.  Sunday  was  a  day  in  Paris  of  uni 
versal  jollity.  The  gardens  were  crowded,  the  restaurants 
crammed,  and  the  theatres  overflowing.  I  observed  later  that 
these  usages  prevailed  in  all  Catholic  countries,  where  the  rigid 
notions  of  our  Puritan  fathers  would  have  been  regarded,  not 
merely  as  fanaticism,  but  downright  insanity.  People,  in  great 
numbers,  went  to  morning  mass  in  Paris  ;  but  that  recognition  of 

*  It  was  a  long  while  indeed  before  I  could  reconcile  myself  to  the  matter-of- 
fact  way  the  French  regard  our  daily  needs.  To  see  men  and  women  resorting  to 
the  cabinets  d^aisances  scattered  about  the  streets,  without  scruple  or  any  sense  of  im 
propriety,  was  to  me  odious  in  the  extreme.  In  this  respect  the  French,  without 
ever  having  read  Shakespeare,  have  adopted  his  lines  as  their  motto  : 

'  If  these  things  be  necessities, 
Then  let  us  meet  them  like  necessities.' 

The  shamefacedness  of  other  nations  in  this  particular  is  incomprehensible  to  the 
Gallic  mind,  and  they  christen  it  mauvaise  honte — false  modesty — a  phrase  of 
deep  significance,  covering  a  multitude  of  things. 


Paris.  85 

the  day  over,  all  the  world  sought  diversion  after  its  various 
tastes  and  means.* 

Finally,  nothing  perplexed  and  confounded  me  more  in  Paris 
than  the  relations  of  the  sexes.  They  lived  on  terms  of  equality 
I  had  never  conceived  of ;  and  the  women  wielded  an  influence, 
not  to  say  a  preponderance,  that  was  not  only  novel,  but  to  me 
astounding.  In  every  kind  of  shop,  and  in  every  variety  of  occu 
pation,  women  were,  I  found,  not  merely  sharing  in  the  work, 
but,  for  the  most  part,  directing  it,  and  frequently  in  places 
which  I  thought  wholly  incongruous. 

An  English  author,!  struck  with  the  same  anomaly,  makes 
the  following  comment :  '  But  it  is  not  only  in  high  society  and 
in  good  society,  in  the  salon  and  in  the  boudoir,  that  you  find  the 
female  in  France  take  an  important  position.  It  is  the  same  in 
the  comptoir,  in  the  caf/y  and  at  the  shop.  She  is  there  also  the 
chief  personage :  keeps  the  accounts,  holds  the  money,  regulates 
and  superintends  the  business.  Go  even  into  a  swordmaker's 

*  In  connection  with  this  topic,  I  append  a  curious  letter  of  the  first  Napoleon, 
when  an  effort  was  made  to  induce  him  to  enforce  a  more  rigid  observance  of  the 
Sabbath.  In  the  year  1807  an  attempt  was  made  to  get  the  Imperial  Government 
.to  insist  upon  an  observance  of  Sunday,  and  this  called  forth  the  following  reply 
from  Napoleon  I.  He  said  : 

'  It  is  contrary  to  divine  law  to  hinder  a  man,  who  has  wants  on  Sunday  as  well 
as  on  other  days,  to  work  on  Sunday  in  order  to  gain  his  bread.  The  Government 
cannot  impose  such  a  law  without  giving  bread  gratis  to  those  who  have  none.  Be 
sides,  it  is  not  the  failing  of  people  in  France  to  work  too  much We  have 

seen  the  public  force  employed  in  constraining  persons  to  celebrate  the  tenth  day  and 
to  work  on  Sunday  [during  the  Revolution,  when  weeks  were  abolished]  ;  and  we 
should  guard  against  the  necessity  of  employing  gendarmes  to  hinder  men  who  stand 
in  need  of  what  they  earn  from  working  on  Sunday.  In  both  cases  there  is  either 
political  or  religious  superstition.  God  has  made  work  a  necessity,  and  He  wishes 
men  to  work  every  day,  because  He  has  given  them  wants  which  are  renewed  every 
day.  We  must  distinguish  in  what  is  prescribed  by  the  clergy  between  the  really 
religious  laws  and  those  obligations  which  have  been  invented  with  the  view  of  ex 
tending  the  authority  of  the  ministers  of  religion The  observance  of  fasting 

upon  Friday  and  of  repose  on  Sunday  are  secondary  and  very  insignificant  rules. 
What  touches  essentially  the  commands  of  the  Church  is  not  to  interfere  with  social 
order,  not  to  do  ill  to  one's  neighbour,  not  to  make  an  abuse  of  liberty.  You  must 
not  reason  with,  but  laugh  at,  priests  who  demand  such  regulations.  I  do  not  oblige 
them  to  give  absolution  against  their  will,  and  I  shall  not  permit  them  to  force  me  to 
throw  the  peasant  who  works  on  no  matter  what  day  into  prison.  Since  my  autho 
rity  is  invoked  in  this  matter,  I  give  to  my  people,  and  for  ever,  the  right  of  not 
interrupting  their  work.  The  more  they  work,  the  less  vice  will  there  be.  If  I 
must  take  part  in  this  affair,  I  should  prefer  to  order  that  on  Sunday,  directly  after 

mass,  all  the  shops  be  opened  and  the  people  return  to  their  work Since 

people  eat  every  day,  let  them  work  every  day The  compulsory  powers  of 

the  Church  lie  in  exhortations  from  the  pulpit,  and  the  police  and  prisons  should 
never  be  used  as  means  to  enforce  the  practices  of  religion.' 

t  The  late  Lord  Balling. 


86  Paris. 

or  a  gunmaker's,  it  is  as  likelyvas  not  that  you  will  be  attended 
to  by  a  female,  who  will  handle  the  sword  and  recommend  the 
gun  ;  and  there  is  a  mixture  of  womanly  gentleness  and  mascu 
line  decision  in  the  little  creature — so  easy,  so  unembarrassed,  so 
prettily  dressed,  and  so  delicately  shaped — that  you  are  at  a  loss 
to  reconcile  with  your  preconceived  notions  of  effrontery  on  the 
one  hand  and  effeminacy  on  the  other.' 

Indeed,  nothing  so  strange  as  this  is  seen  in  any  other  country, 
but  it  has  always  existed  in  the  history  of  France.  In  the 
Middle  Ages  the  chatelaine  was  constantly  left  in  charge  of  the 
castle,  and  commanded  if  a  siege  took  place  in  the  absence  of 
her  lord.  In  1429,  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  the  leader  of  the  French 
army;  and  in  1455,  Marguerite  d'Anjou,  the  French  wife  of 
Henry  VI.  of  England,  took  the  field  in  the  Wars  of  the  Roses. 
In  the  Revolution  of  1789,  women  not  only  died,  like  Madame 
Roland,  on  the  scaffold,  or  assassinated  their  enemies,  as  Char 
lotte  Cord  ay  did  Marat,  but  fought  with  the  people  in  the  street. 

Les  Frangaises  of  1834,  I  remarked,  had  in  no  wise  degene 
rated.  Everywhere,  indoors  and  out,  they  were  recognised  by  the 
men  as  their  equals,  and  exercised  a  similar,  if  not  a  superior, 
authority.  Whilst  I  admired  their  ambition,  intelligence,  taste, 
and  elegance,  I  considered  them  wanting  in  that  softness,  re 
serve,  not  to  say  diffidence,  which  in  other  lands  constituted  one 
of  the  greatest  charms  of  the  female  sex.  It  was  not,  however, 
merely  the  somewhat  masculine  traits  of  the  French  women  that 
surprised  me,  but  far  more  so  the  boldness  and  familiarity  with 
which  they  consorted  with  men,  without  stopping  to  think  of  the 
formality  of  marriage.  In  the  upper  classes  I  was  prepared  to 
encounter  more  or  less  immorality,  as  Americans  would  deem  it, 
for  the  history  of  France  is  full  of  the  amorous  intrigues  of  kings 
and  great  men.  At  balls  and  soirees  in  high  life  I  was  not,  there 
fore,  astounded  to  be  told  that  the  gentleman  moving  at  the  elbow 
of  a  lady  was  famant  de  madame,  or  that  French  husbands  for 
the  most  part  were  so  much  occupied  with  their  own  liaisons  that 
they  rarely  took  heed  of  those  of  their  wives. 

In  a  society  where  toleration  like  this  is  so  general  it  is  hardly 
necessary  to  say  that  jealousy  and  its  fierce  rancours  are  seldom 
heard  of.  In  connection  with  this  topic  I  must  again  quote  from 
the  writer  just  cited. 

'  In  France/  remarks  my  author,  'there  is  not  even  a  shocking 
or  humiliating  idea  attached  to  these  sexual  improprieties.  The 


\ 
Paris.  87 


woman,  says  La  Bruyere,  who  has  only  one  lover  declares  she  is 
not  a  coquette.  The  woman  who  has  more  than  one  lover  says 
she  is  only  a  coquette.  To  have  a  lover  is  the  natural  and  simple 
thing.  Nor  is  it  necessary  that  you  should  have  a  violent  pas 
sion  to  excuse  the  frailty.  Mademoiselle  de  Lenclos,  whose 
opinions  have  descended  in  all  their  force  and  simplicity  to  the 
present  generation,  writes,  "  What  attaches  you  to  your  lover  is 
not  always  love,  but  more  frequently  a  conformity  of  ideas,  of 
tastes,  the  habit  of  seeing  him,  the  desire  to  escape  from  your 
self,  la  nfaessiti a*  avoir  quelque galanterie"  "  Gallantry" — that  is 
the  word  which,  in  spite  of  all  our  social  refinement,  we  have, 
hardly  yet  a  right  understanding  of.  Gallantry  is  a  kind  of  light, 
affectionate,  and  unplatonic  friendship,  which  just  suits  the 
amiable  and  frivolous  nature  of  the  French.  There  is  nothing  of 
passion  in  it.  Never  expect  a  folly.  Not  one  lady  in  a  hundred 
would  quit  the  husband  she  deceives  for  the  lover  whom,  soi- 
disant)  she  adores.  As  to  the  gentlemen,  I  remember  a  case  the 

other  day.  Madame  de ,  hating  her  husband  rather  more 

than  it  is  usual,  or  liking  her  lover  rather  better  than  it  is  usual, 
proposed  an  elopement.  The  lover,  when  able  to  recover  from 
his  astonishment  at  so  startling  a  proposition,  and  having  satis 
fied  himself  that  his  mistress  was  really  in  earnest,  put  on  a  more 
serious  aspect  than  usual.  "  Your  husband,"  said  he,  "  is,  as  you. 
know,  ma  chere>  my  best  friend.  I  will  live  with  you  and  love  you 
as  long  as  you  like,  under  his  roof — that  is  no  breach  of  friend 
ship  ;  but  I  cannot  do  M.  de so  cruel  and  unfriendly  a  thing 

as  to  run  away  with  you."  ; 

The  author  vouches  for  the  accuracy  of  his  anecdote,  and 
continues : 

1  When  the  Italian  woman  takes  a  lover,  she  indulges  a  des 
perate  passion  ;  when  the  Englishwoman  takes  a  lover,  it  is 
frequently  to  gratify  a  restless  longing  after  rank  ;  but  when  a 
Frenchwoman  takes  a  lover,  it  is  most  commonly  to  get  an 
agreeable  and  interesting  companion,  and  an  assiduous  court 
ship  is  very  often  a  series  of  bons  mots.  It  is  very  possibly  the 
kind  of  gentle  elegance  which  pervades  these  relations  that 
makes  the  French  so  peculiarly  indulgent  to  them.' 

All  this  has  reference  to  the  higher  classes  ;  but  I  will  add, 
from  the  same  authority,  sufficient  proofs  that  the  middle  and 
lower  strata  are  not  a  whit  more  prudish  than  their  betters.  My 
own  observations  so  fully  confirmed  the  exactitude  of  Lord 


88  Paris. 

Balling's  statements  on  this  curious  state  of  society,  which  exists 
nowhere  else  to  the  same  degree,  that  I  shall  follow  up  my 
quotations,  that  are  expressed  with  an  elegance  and  point  far 
beyond  my  reach. 

'  In  a  country  like  France/  observes  my  author, '  where  for 
tunes  are  small,  marriages,  though  far  more  frequent  than  with 
us,  have  still  their  limits,  and  only  take  place  between  persons 
who  can  together  make  up  a  sufficient  income.  A  vast  variety 
of  single  ladies,  therefore,  without  fortune,  still  remain,  who  are 
usually  guilty  of  the  indiscretion  of  a  lover,  even  though  they 
have  no  husband  to  deceive.  Many  of  these  cannot  be  called 
harlots  in  our  sense  of  things,  and  are  honest  women  in  their  own. 
They  take  unto  themselves  an  affection,  to  which  they  remain 
tolerably  faithful,  as  long  as  it  is  understood  that  the  liaison  con 
tinues.  The  quiet  young  banker,  the  quiet  young  stockbroker, 
the  quiet  young  lawyer,  live  until  they  are  rich  enough  to  marry 
in  some  connection  of  this  description.  Sanctioned  by  custom, 
these  left-handed  marriages  are  to  be  found,  with  a  certain  re 
spectability  appertaining  to  them,  in  all  walks  of  life.' 

This  sketch,  referring  to  the  middle  class,  would  hardly  be 
complete  without  appending  another  phase,  to  be  found  in  the 
Latin  Quarter  of  Paris,  inhabited  in  great  numbers  by  the  students 
who  flock  to  the  capital  to  follow  the  lectures  on  medicine  and 
law.  After  commenting  on  the  slender  means  and  severe  priva 
tions  of  many  of  these  young  men  from  the  country,  my  author 
goes  on  to  say  : 

'  The  only  comfort  and  consolation  which  their  misery  receives 
is  at  the  hands  of  the  "  grisette."  This  friend,  an  honest,  though 
perhaps  too  indulgent,  personage,  who  has  no  parallel  in  our 
society,  is  the  student's  beneficent  genius.  Between  the  grisette 
and  the  student  there  exists  a  species  of  fraternity  :  they  lodge 
frequently  in  the  same  house.  If  the  student  be  ill,  the  grisette 
attends  him  ;  if  the  student's  linen  be  out  of  repair,  which  hap 
pens  frequently,  the  grisette  mends  it  for  him.  The  student,  in 
his  turn,  protects  the  grisette,  gives  her  his  arm  on  a  Sunday  in 
the  Luxembourg  gardens,  or  pays  the  necessary  penny  and  con 
ducts  her  across  the  bridge.  Equally  poor,  equally  in  need  of 
kindness  and  protection,  brought  together  by  their  mutual  w'ants, 
they  form  naturally  and  immediately  a  new  link  in  society.  In 
the  same  quarter  as  the  students,  and  living  in  a  similar  fashion, 
are  found  a  great  number  of  the  young  literary  men  of  France 


Paris.  89 

of  the  journalists,  the  novelists,  the  dramatists,  writers  of  tales, 
reviewers,  &c.  Less  seriously  occupied  than  the  poor  students, 
not  so  idle  as  the  wealthier  ones,  they  form  an  intermediate  link, 
and  tend  to  inspire  both  with  that  love  of  polite  learning,  that 
passion  for  light  literature,  with  which  all  the  young  part  of  France 
is  imbued.' 

Descending  from  the  middle  class  to  the  lower  stratum,  the 
observant  author  quoted  describes  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
working  people  cohabiting  in  the  same  free-and-easy  fashion  as 
shown  in  the  above  extracts. 

'  The  working  classes/  he  says,  '  have  their  somewhat  famous 
"  mariages  de  St.  Jacques?  which,  among  themselves,  are  highly 
respectable.  The  working  man,  and  the  lady  who  takes  in  wash 
ing,  or  who  makes  linen,  find  it  cheaper  and  more  comfortable 
(for  the  French  have  their  idea  of  comfort)  to  take  a  room  to 
gether.  They  take  a  room,  put  in  their  joint  furniture — one  bed 
answers  for  both ;  the  lady  cooks ;  a  common  manage  and  a 
common  purse  are  established ;  and  the1  couple's  affection  usually 
endures  at  least  as  long  as  their  lease.  People  so  living,  though 
one  calls  himself  M.  Thomas  and  the  other  Mademoiselle  Clare, 
are  married  a  la  St.  Jacques •,  and  their  union  is  considered  in 
every  way  reputable  by  their  friends  and  neighbours  during  the 
time  of  its  continuance.' 

The  above  descriptions  wind  up  with  the  following  striking 
conclusion :  ,: 

'  There  is,  then,  far  more  libertinage  in  France  than  in  any 
other  civilised  country  in  Europe  ;  but  it  leads  less  than  in  other 
countries  to  further  depravity.  Not  being  considered  a  crime, 
incontinence  does  not  bringdown  the  mind  to  the  level  of  crime. 
It  is  looked  upon,  in  fact,  as  merely  a  matter  of  taste  ;  and  very 
few  people,  in  forming  their  opinion  oi  the  character  or  a  woman, 
would  even  take  her  virtue  into  consideration.  Great,  indeed,  are 
the  evils  of  this :  but  it  also  has  its  advantages.  In  England,  where 
honour,  probity,  and  charity  are  nothing  to  the  woman  in  whom 
chastity  is  not  found,  to  her  who  has  committed  one  error  there 
is  no  hope,  and  six  months  frequently  separate  the  honest  girl 
of  respectable  parents  and  good  prospects  irom  the  abandoned 
prostitute,  associated  with  thieves,  and  whipped  in  Bridewell  for 
her  disorders.' 

It  was  just  this  palpable  fact,  that  in  Paris  '  incontinence  was 
not  considered  a  crime,'  that  puzzled  and  confounded  me  utterly. 


90  Paris. 

In  my  own  country,  where  English  opinions  and  English  usages 
prevailed,  the  want  of  chastity  in  women  was  ruinous,  and  all  such 
unhappy  creatures  were  regarded  as  pariahs  and  outcasts.  But 
here  in  France  I  saw,  distributed  through  all  ranks  of  society, 
women  whose  relations  were  equivocal  and  notorious,  deporting 
themselves  as  though  wholly  unconscious  of  degradation,  and 
treated  by  all  with  the  same  courtesy  extended  to  those  free 
from  any  such  '  entangling  alliances.'  The  very  street-walkers 
bore  themselves  with  the  same  easy  self-possession  and  graceful 
air  as  other  Frenchwomen,  and  no  one  thought  of  looking  down 
on  them  with  contempt,  of  treating  them  with  rudeness,  or  casting 
reproach  on  their  mode  of  life. 

I  cannot  withhold  a  further  extract  from  the  writer  so  fully 
quoted,  who  discourses  in  the  following  strain  on  the  nymphs  of 
the  pavement  : 

'  In  France,  the  woman  who  begins  her  disgusting  occupation 
on  the  Boulevards  usually  continues,  year  after  year,  to  ascend 
one  step  after  another  into  a  more  creditable  position.  The  hope 
and  the  desire  to  rise  never  forsake  her.  Notwithstanding  her 
vanity,  her  love  of  dress,  and  her  passion  for  pleasure,  she  hus 
bands  her  unhappy  earnings.  There  is  a  kind  of  virtue  and  order 
mingling  with  the  extravagance  and  vice  which  form  part  of  her 
profession.  The  aged  mother,  or  the  little  sister,  is  never  for 
gotten.  She  has  not  that  first  horror  of  depravity  which  is  found 
among  our  chaster  females  ;  but  she  falls  not  at  once,  nor  does 
she  ever  fall  lower  than  necessity  obliges  her.  Without  edu 
cation,  she  contrives  to  pick  up  a  certain  train  of  thought,  a 
finesse,  and  a  justness  of  ideas — a  thorough  knowledge  of  life 
and  character — and,  what  perhaps  is  most  surprising  of  all,  a 
tact,  a  delicacy,  and  elegance  of  manners  which  it  is  perfectly 
marvellous  that  she  should  have  preserved,  much  more  that  she 
should  have  collected  from  the  wretchedness  and  filth  which  her 
life  has  been  dragged  through.  Even  in  the  lowest  state  of  in 
famy  and  misery  she  cherishes  and  displays  feelings  you  would 
have  thought  incompatible  with  such  a  state/ 

Such  a  state  of  things,  in  such  flagrant  opposition  to  the 
moral  code  I  had  studied,  was  enough  to  embarrass  and  con 
fuse  a  clearer  judgment  than  mine.  The  solution  was  only  to  be 
found  in  the  history  of  France,  already  alluded  to,  where  at  every 
epoch  is  seen  a  freedom  of  intercourse  between  the  sexes  that 
no  other  country  presents.  In  past  times  this  was  characteristic 


Paris.  9 1 

chiefly  of  the  upper  classes  ;  but  their  example  and   manners 
gradually  permeated  the  whole  framework  of  society. 

What  can  be  more  conclusive,  as  asserted  above,  that  incon 
tinence  was  never  considered  a  crime  in  France,  when  we  find  the 
brilliant  Madame  de  SeVigne  writing,  in  the  reign  of  Louis  XIV., 
in  this  wise  to  her  daughter  ? — 

*  The  Chevalier  de  Lorraine  called  the  other  day  upon  the 
F — — .  She  wished  to  play  la  dfcespe'ree.  The  Chevalier,  with 
that  beautiful  air  which  you  recollect,  endeavoured  to  do  away 
at  once  with  her  embarrassment.  "  What  is  the  matter,  made 
moiselle  ?"  said  he  ;  "  why  are  you  out  of  spirits  ?  What  is  there 
extraordinary  in  the  accident  that  has  happened  to  us  ?  We 
loved  one  another — we  love  one  another  no  longer.  Constancy 
is  not  the  virtue  of  our  age.  We  had  much  better  forget  the  past, 
and  assume  the  ordinary  manners  of  the  world.  Wttat  a  pretty 
little  dog  you  have  got  /"  And  thus,'  says  Madame  de  SeVigne*, 
'ended  this  belle  passion' 

Endless  anecdotes  might  be  cited  to  show  that,  in  1834,  the 
same  levity,  the  same  tolerance  towards  lascivious  intrigues, 
was  displayed  as  in  the  reputed  voluptuous  days  of  le  Grand 
Monarque,  two  hundred  years  ago.  Without  moralising  on  the 
practical  philosophy  of  the  French,  which  concedes  to  the  frailty 
of  human  nature  a  leniency  quite  exceptional,  I  will  drop  the 
topic  with  a  repetition  of  the  phrase,  so  common  in  France  and 
so  indisputable,  Chaque  pays  ctia'que  mode. 

I  should  fail  as  an  honest  chronicler  if  I  neglected  to  state 
that,  whatever  the  freedom  allowed  in  France  to  married  women, 
the  most  jealous  restrictions  are  employed  to  protect  young 
girls  from  all  contaminating  influence.  In  the  higher  and  middle 
classes  the  daughters  are  never  allowed  to  go  out  unaccom 
panied,  nor  are  they  permitted  to  associate  familiarly  with  the 
opposite  sex.  They  are  taught  the  propriety  of  maidenly 
reserve,  -and  never  mingle  freely  either  in  the  society  or  in  the 
conversation  of  their  elders.  Above  all,  they  are  never  seen  in 
places  of  amusement  except  of  the  most  inoffensive  description. 
It  would  be  regarded  as  an  affront  to  ask  any  young  lady  of 
respectability  if  she  ever  visited  a  theatre  whose  performances 
•were  known  to  be  of  a  doubtful  character. 

On  the  subject  of  marriage  in  France  much  misapprehension 
prevails.  It  is  generally  supposed  that  parents  alone  decide  on 
the  matches  of  their  children,  without  consulting  their  inclina- 


92  Paris. 

tions.  This  is  a  mistake.  On  this  point  I  cannot  do  better  than 
support  my  own  observations  by  still  another  quotation  from  the 
impartial  author  previously  cited.  '  A  marriage,'  he  remarks,. 
'  takes  place  in  France  under  the  following  circumstances  :  The 
parents  of  the  two  parties  agree  that,  if  the  young  people  like 
one  another,  a  very  suitable  connection  might  be  formed.  The 
young  people  then  meet,  and,  if  they  are  to  each  other's  taste, 
the  match  takes  place.  Surely  this  is  as  sentimental  and  as- 
delicate  as  teaching  a  young  lady  everything  that  can  elicit  a 
declaration  of  marriage,  so  common  in  the  higher  classes  of 
England,  and  which,  you  may  depend  on  it,  she  does  not  forget 
afterwards,  when  every  declaration  she  receives  must  be  a 
declaration  of  love.  Matrimonial  morality  is  not  high  in  France,. 
I  grant  it.  But  this  proceeds  from  a  variety  of  causes,  with 
which  the  system  of  marriage  (a  system  which  prevails  all  over 
the  Continent,  and  in  countries  where  the  ladies  are  quite  as 
faithful  as  in  our  own)  has  nothing  in  the  world  to  do/ 

After  my  arrival  in  France  I  became  aware  for  the  first 
time  of  the  extraordinary  latitude  conceded  to  young  unmar 
ried  women  in  the  United  States.  They  were  allowed  to  go  out 
when  they  pleased  ;  to  walk  and  ride  with  their  male  friends  ;  to 
accompany  them  to  theatres  and  balls  ;  whilst  in  society  they 
enjoyed  an  independence,  if  not  a  predominance,  which  was  not 
thought  irregular  or  unbecoming.  The  contrast  of  such  freedom 
of  manners  to  what  prevailed  in  France  was  broad  indeed,  but 
might  be  traced  to  logical  causes.  First,  our  usages  descended 
from  the  mother  country,  where  no  such  strict  surveillance  was 
ever  exercised  over  young  women  as  in  France.  Next,  the 
toleration  extended  to  them  in  our  country  originated  in  the 
innocence  and  decorum  of  our  village  life,  when  '  George  the 
Third  was  king,'  and  when  Mrs.  Grundy  was  never  out  of  sight, 
or  her  reproving  voice  too  distant  to  be  heard.  But  when  our 
hamlets  shall  have  become  converted  into  populous  towns,  and 
foreign  manners  shall  have  crept  in,  impregnating  the  whilom 
purity  oi  our  social  atmosphere,  it  will  then  be  a  serious  ques 
tion  whether  our  primitive  customs  should  not  be  modified,  and 
the  European  system  of  checks  and  restraints  be  adopted. 


CHAPTER  X. 
PARIS  (continued). 

THE  PALAIS  ROYAL — A  HAPPY  MAN— GAMBLING — THE  AMERICAN  COLONY,  ETC, 

I  DINED  constantly  at  the  Palais  Royal,  then  in  all  its  glory. 
The  best  restaurants,  and  some  of  the  finest  shops,  especially 
jewellers,  were  to  be  found  here.  Nothing  in  Paris  enchanted 
me  more  than  this  brilliant  mart.  The  palace  at  one  end  was 
first  erected  by  Cardinal  Richelieu,  and  afterwards  given  by 
Louis  XIV.  to  his  brother,  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  where  it 
has  ever  since  remained.  It  was  the  father  of  the  reigning 
King  who  thought  it  would  add  to  his  already  vast  revenues 
if  he  surrounded  the  garden  of  his  palace  with  a  splendid 
structure,  and  let  it  out  for  shops.  He  accomplished  his 
plan,  and  it  yielded  an  immense  income.  At  first  there  was  a 
great  outcry  against  the  speculation,  and  the  Duke  wittily 
observed  *  he  should  be  in  no  want  of  materials,  as  everybody 
was  throwing  stones  at  him/ 

The  restaurant  I  frequented  most  was  that  of  VeTour.  The 
rooms  on  the  ground  floor  were  lined  with  mirrors  and  resplend 
ent  with  light  The  cabinets  above  were  reserved  for  private 
parties.  At  six  o'clock  in  winter  all  the  tables  were  occupied, 
and  it  was  a  scene  of  great  animation.  At  the  end  of  each 
room  stood  a  kind  of  altar,  behind  which  sat  the  presiding 
divinity,  a  lady  daintily  dressed,  and  courteous,  but  reserved  in 
manner — la  dame  du  comptoir.  It  was  her  function  to  make  out 
the  bills  and  supervise  the  waiters.  All  doffed  their  hats  to 
her  on  entering  or  leaving  the  room,  and  received  in  return  a 
polite  but  cold  salutation.  A  smile  was  never  seen  on  her  face, 
and  no  one  ever  dreamt  of  approaching  or  addressing  her. 
This  would  have  been  an  act  of  Ihe-majeste,  a  breach  of  usage 
that  would  have  been  resented.  It  was  inconceivable  to  me 
how  a  woman,  often  young  and  pretty,  could  sit  for  some  houio 
in  a  state  of  almost  suspended  animation  ;  not  a  feature  or  a 


94  Paris. 

word  betraying  that  she  was  other  than  an  automaton,  and  yet 
closely  observant  all  the  while.  If  a  waiter  was  missing,  she 
rang  the  bell ;  if  the  bill  was  demanded,  she  handed  it  already 
made  out,  as  each  dish  was  reported  to  her  when  ordered.  It  was 
puzzling  to  an  American  to  find  a  woman  in  such  an  exposed 
position  ;  but  I  was  not  long  discovering  that  Frenchwomen 
have  no  such  thing  as  timidity  in  their  composition,  and  that  a 
man  had  no  more  effect  on  their  nerves  than  the  hat  he  wore 
The  waiters,  in  their  blue  jackets  and  long  white  aprons,  their 
polite  manners,  free  from  all  subserviency,  attracted  my  attention 
as  models  in  their  way.  They  would  take  orders  from  half  a 
dozen  people  for  double  that  number  of  dishes,  and  never  com 
mit  an  error.  I  concluded  the  science  of  mnemonics  had  made 
great  progress  in  France. 

One  of  my  frequent  companions  at  dinner  was  S.  B.  Denison, 
then  a  commission  merchant  and  agent  for  the  New  York  packet 
line  to  Havre.  He  was  a  native  of  Connecticut,  and  had  resided 
in  Paris  since  1815.  He  was  somewhat  eccentric,  but  amiable 
and  intelligent.  He  knew  Paris  like  a  book,  and  was  armed  with 
curious  statistics  at  all  points.  In  the  matter  of  restaurants 
there  was  not  one  of  them  famous  for  a  particular  dish  or  a  spe 
cial  wine,  or  a  cafd  that  excelled  in  liqueurs  or  coffee,  but  he 
could  direct  you  to  it  blindfold.  No  small  merit,  when  Paris 
boasted  of  its  eight  hundred  cafe's  and  one  thousand  restaurants. 
Poor  Sam,  steam  navigation  was  the  ruin  of  him  ;  for  the  suspen 
sion  of  the  Havre  packets  cost  him  his  livelihood,  and  he  never 
managed  to  get  on  his  commercial  legs  again.  He  continued  to 
subsist  on  what  small  jobs  fell  in  his  way,  and  the  bounty  of  his 
friends.  His  good  spirits  never  deserted  him,  and  he  was  as 
gay  and  chatty  in  his  attic  as  in  the  days  of  his  prosperity. 

'  If  people  only  knew,'  he  used  to  say,  '  how  little  they  would 
be  disturbed  by  the  commotions  of  the  world  below,  they  would 
all  live  like  me  in  a  garret/ 

He  dined  as  joyously  on  twenty  sous,  when  he  had  it,  as 
when  he  lived  on  the  fat  of  the  land,  and  his  appetite  never 
failed  him.  He  used  to  tell  racy  stories  of  the  ups  and  downs, 
he  had  seen  in  Paris,  of  the  revolutions  and  hneutes>  of  the  fall 
of  Governments  and  great  men. 

'  I  have  survived  them  all/  he  would  boast,  '  and  have  no 
bitter  regrets  of  lost  greatness  to  torment  me/ 

Any  allusion  to  his  former  prosperity,  instead  of  a  growl  or  a 


Paris.  95 

whine,  only  elicited  some  pleasant  rejoinder  in  the  spirit  of  the 
old  rhyme : 

'  The  loss  of  wealth  is  loss  of  dirt, 
As  sages  in  all  times  assert  ; 
The  happy  man's  without  a  shirt.'* 

The  Palais  Royal  at  night  was  a  gorgeous  spectacle.  The 
shops  below  blazed  with  light,  and  the  stories  above  were  hardly 
less  effulgent.  Many  of  the  rooms  on  the  third  and  fourth  floors 
were  used  for  gambling,  which  was  then  licensed.  The  Govern 
ment  sold  this  license  to  a  contractor  for  a  term  of  years,  who 
was  obliged  to  pay  annually  into  the  public  treasury,  in  monthly 
instalments,  five  millions  and  a  half  of  francs.  He  was  allowed 
to  retain  for  his  expenses  two  millions  and  a  quarter. 

I  used  occasionally  to  visit  these  haunts  in  the  Palais  Royal, 
and  gazed  with  pity  on  the  victims  of  this  detestable  vice.  The 
bank,  of  course,  amassed  large  profits  ;  but  now  and  then  a  run 
of  luck  would  enable  some  bold  player  to  secure  heavy  stakes. 
There  was  a  man  who  used  to  frequent,  at  this  time,  one  of  these 
gambling-dens  who  had  made  a  profound  study  of  the  chances 
of  the  game,  and,  though  often  a  loser,  his  abstruse  calculations 
not  unfrequently  succeeded  in  filling  his  pockets.  He  was  any 
thing  but  a  welcome  guest  to  the  proprietors,  who  could  not, 
however,  prevent  his  playing.  One  night  his  luck  combined  with 
his  skill,  and  he  was  fortunate  enough  to  break  the  bank,  a  most 
unusual  occurrence.  He  rose  from  the  table  with  his  porte-feuille 
crammed  with  •  notes,  to  the  extent  of  many  thousands.  As  it 
was  near  four  o'clock  in  the  morning,  the  police,  always  present, 
suggested  he  should  take  a  coach,  or  allow  one  of  them  to  con 
duct  him  home.  He  declined  both,  and  set  out  in  high  spirits. 
Next  morning  his  dead  body  was  found  in  one  of  the  narrow 
streets  adjacent,  and  every  penny  gone.  It  is  clear  that  some 
one  cognisant  of  his  great  gains  had  committed  the  crime,  but 
no  discovery  was  ever  made. 

I  heard  a  story  related  of  an  English  officer,  who  used  to 
frequent  one  of  these  lairs  in  the  Palais  Royal.  Having  lost 
every  penny  he  possessed,  he  resolved  in  despair  to  destroy  him 
self,  and  all  those  instrumental  in  his  ruin.  He  managed  to  place 
a  canister  of  fulminating  powder  under  the  table,  and  ignited  it. 

*  He  went  through  the  late  siege  of  Paris,  and  more  than  once  would  have 
starved  outright,  but  for  a  stray  cat  or  two,  that,  with  no  small  culinary  skill,  he 
converted  into  a  savoury  fricassee. 


96  Paris. 

An  explosion  was  the  consequence,  but,  strange  to  say,  no  one 
was  seriously  hurt.  The  unfortunate  culprit  was  arrested  and 
imprisoned  ;  but  after  some  time  he  was,  through  the  intervention 
of  the  British  Ambassador,  sent  out  of  France  as  a  lunatic.  A 
similar  incident  is  related  as  having  occurred  at  a  previous  period 
in  one  of  the  gambling-houses  of  Paris.  A  couple  of  men  who 
were  playing  contrived,  under  pretext  of  having  dropped  some 
money,  to  get  under  the  table,  where  they  placed  a  small  jar  of 
powder,  which  soon  exploded.  Amid  the  confusion  and  dismay, 
they  seized  all  the  gold  and  notes  of  the  bank,  and  made  off  with 
the  plunder  without  detection. 

A  more  fashionable  gambling-house,  of  the  name  of  Frascati, 
in  the  Rue  Richelieu,  was  then  much  patronised.  Women  were 
admitted  here,  and  no  one  knew  who  they  were,  as  names  were 
not  demanded.  It  was  a  curious  but  painful  sight  to  contem 
plate  a  row  of  men  and  women  sitting  round  the  long  green  table 
where  the  gaming  went  on,  silent,  motionless,  absorbed.  Not  a 
word  was  spoken  ;  but  the  emotions  depicted  on  the  countenance 
of  each  told  plainly  enough  of  the  agitation  within.  Every  face 
was  flushed,  every  eye  sparkled  with  excitement,  and  sometimes, 
when  the  luck  was  very  adverse,  the  expression  of  many  was 
really  diabolical.  It  was  to  me  a  loathsome  sight. 

A  much  more  exclusive  resort  of  this  kind  v/as  the  Salon  des 
Etrangers,  always  crowded  with  men  of  rank  and  wealth,  and 
many  of  the  foreign  ambassadors.  The  cuisine  and  wines  were 
renowned,  and  a  supper  of  regal  magnificence  was  nightly  served 
for  the  guests.  Englishmen  of  fortune  were  constant  habitues  of 
the  place,  and  lost  heavily.  Lord  Thanet,  who  had  an  income  of 
5O,ooo/.  a  year,  played  here  day  and  night,  till  he  w;as  penniless. 
One  night  he  sat  down  to  play  cards  with  some  of  the  guests  he 
met  at  the  Salon,  and  lost  I2O,OOO/.  A  friend  of  his  remarked 
that  he  thought  his  lordship  had  been  cheated.  *  Then/  he  re 
plied,  with  perfect  composure, '  I  am  fortunate  in  not  having  lost 
double  that  sum/ 

This  was  one  of  the  anecdotes  current  in  Paris  that  winter, 
but  many  others  were  flying  about. 

A  story  was  told  of  the  Hon.  George  Talbot,  a  nephew  of 
the  Earl  of  Shrewsbury,  who  was  a  steady  visitor  of  the  Salon. 
On  one  occasion,  having  exhausted  all  his  funds,  he  sprang  up, 
and  with  great  energy  exclaimed, 

'  If  I  had  all  the  statues  oi  Canova  at  my  uncle's  country  seat. 


Paris.  97 

I  would  stake  them  on  the  "  red,"  for  the  "  black"  has  won  four 
teen  times  running/ 

I  heard  some  curious  details  of  the  Hungarian  Count  Hun- 
yady,  who  was  all  the  rage  in  Paris  at  this  epoch  for  his  hand 
some  person,  his  charming  manners,  and  his  splendid  mode  of 
life.  He  passed  many  hours  daily  at  the  Salon  des  Etrangers, 
and  his  luck  for  a  long  while  was  marvellous.  At  one  time  he 
was  a  winner  of  upwards  of  two  millions  of  francs.  His  manner 
at  play  was  always  calm  and  gentlemanly  ;  he  sat,  apparently 
unmoved,  with  his  right  hand  in  the  breast  of  his  coat,  whilst 
thousands  depended  upon  the  turning  of  a  card.  His  valet,  how 
ever,  related  that  his  nerves  were  not  of  such  an  iron  temper  as 
seemed  to  be  the  case ;  for  his  breast  often  bore  in  the  morning 
the  bloody  marks  of  his  nails,  which  he  had  lacerated  in  the 
agony  of  an  unsuccessful  turn  of  fortune.  The  Count  was  not 
wise  enough  to  leave  Paris  with  his  large  winnings,  but  continued 
to  play  till  he  lost  not  only  all  he  had  gained,  but  the  greater 
part  of  his  fortune.  He  was  finally  compelled  to  borrow  money 
to  get  back  to  Hungary.* 

The  sums  annually  lost  in  the  gambling-houses  were  esti 
mated  as  ranging  from  six  to  nine  millions.  By  a  law  of  the 
Chamber  of  Deputies,  in  December  1837,  public  gambling  was 
abolished  in  France,  and  has  never  been  revived. 

The  American  colony  in  Paris  at  this  period  was  very 
limited,  hardly  exceeding  thirty  persons,  and  only  a  few  of  these 
domiciled  there.  Among  those  established  for  the  winter  were 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  R.  K.  Haight  of  New  York,  who  occupied  luxuri 
ous  apartments  in  the  Place  Vendome,  and  gave  frequent  enter 
tainments.  Mr.  Haight  was  a  man  of  intelligence,  but  his  brusque 
manners  made  an  unfavourable  impression.  His  shortcomings 
in  this  respect,  however,  were  amply  redeemed  by  the  pleasing 
address,  tact,  and  esprit  of  his  wife,  who  charmed  and  attracted 
a  large  circle  of  friends.  Somewhat  later,  she  travelled  exten 
sively  in  Egypt,  a  rare  feat  in  those  days,  and  published  an  in 
teresting  book  of  her  impressions  de  voyage  that  was  greatly 
admired. 

The  only  American  banking-house  existing  in  Paris  was 
that  of  Welles  &  Co.,  which  enjoyed  high  repute,  and  com 
manded  the  confidence  of  the  American  and  French  business 

*  Some  of  these  anecdotes,  then  circulating  in  society,  are  related  by  Captain 
Gronow  in  his  lively  book. 

H 


98  Paris. 

world.  The  head  of  the  firm  was  Mr.  Samuel  Welles.  He  was 
of  New  England  origin,  and  possessed  all  the  shrewdness  and 
energy  of  his  native  region.  He  conducted  the  operations  of  his 
bank  with  boldness,  but  no  less  circumspection.  He  was  an 
odd-looking  man  —  short  of  stature,  a  slender  frame,  with  a 
head  of  unusual  size,  quite  disproportioned  to  his  person.  His 
face  was  hard  and  cold  ;  his  eyes  penetrating  and  suspicious  ; 
his  manner  abrupt  and  austere.  He  was  singularly  fidgety, 
besides,  always  darting  to  and  fro,  never  occupying  the  same  spot 
for  two  minutes  together,  even  when  talking,  which  he  did  with 
great  rapidity  ;  and  frequently,  before  a  reply  could  be  made,  he 
would  be  in  an  adjoining  room.  It  must  have  been  a  trying  ordeal 
for  him  to  keep  his  seat  during  a  dinner-party.  He  was  a  man 
of  precision  and  fixed  rules  in  everything.  On  the  1st  of  May 
he  put  on  his  summer  apparel,  and  would  not  take  it  off  before 
the  ist  of  November,  even  if  half  congealed  with  cold.  In  spite 
of  all  this  he  was  a  good-hearted  man,  and  did  many  kind  and 
generous  things  in  his  day. 

He  married  late  in  life,  but  made  a  fortunate  selection. 
Whilst  on  a  visit  to  his  friend  and  correspondent,  T.  Wiggins, 
an  American  banker  in  London,  he  met  Miss  Fowle  of  Rhode 
Island,  a  sister  of  Mrs.  Wiggins,  and  her  beauty  and  intelli 
gence  soon  overpowered  the  nimble  man  of  finance,  and  brought 
him  to  a  standstill  for  once.  How  he  managed  to  remain 
stationary  long  enough  to  pop  the  question  is  a  marvel ;  but 
he  did  so  successfully,  and  brought  his  young  and  blooming 
bride,  not  half  his  age,  back  to  Paris.  He  reared  a  splendid 
mansion  in  the  Place  St.  George,  which  for  years  was  not  sur 
passed  in  the  number  and  liberality  of  its  entertainments  by  any 
house  in  the  French  capital. 

It  is  not  surprising  that  Mrs.  Welles  rapidly  ascended  to 
the  highest  level  of  the  society  of  the  Chausse"e  d'Antin,  which 
of  late  years  had  superseded  the  social  preponderance  once 
wielded  by  the  old  nobility  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain.  She 
possessed  in  a  marked  degree  those  essential  qualifications  re 
quired  of  a  candidate  for  Parisian  favour.  Without  affectation 
or  pretension,  she  added  to  elegance  and  vivacity  that  dis 
tinction  of  manner  which  is  one  of  the  striking  traits  of  the 
French  tlite.  Her  conversation  was  animated  and  sparkling, 
whilst  an  acute  understanding,  enlarged  by  extensive  reading, 
enabled  her  to  discuss  with  facility  the  current  topics  of  the 


Paris.  99 

day,  whether  in  literature,  art,  or  politics.  No  one  could  be 
long  in  the  society  of  Mrs.  Welles  without  detecting  in  her 
quick  eye  and  expressive  countenance  indications  of  a  force  of  cha 
racter  that  never  failed  to  reveal  itself  when  occasion  demanded. 
She  gave  a  memorable  proof  of  this  at  a  later  period,  when  bank 
ruptcy  hovered  over  her  husband's  house. 

Though  not  foreseen  in  the  winter  of  1834,  the  causes  were 
at  work  which  brought  on  the  revulsion  of  1836.  Under  the 
severe  financial  strain  of  that  year  two  American  houses  of 
note,  Wilde  &  Co.  and  Wiggins  &  Co.,  failed  in  London.  The 
downfall  of  the  latter  involved  Welles  &  Co.  in  difficulty, 
and,  though  the  head  of  the  house  struggled  energetically  to 
weather  the  storm,  the  peril  daily  increased,  and  a  catastrophe 
was  imminent  At  this  critical  moment  Mrs.  Welles  displayed 
a  vigour  worthy  of  her  mother-land.  Without  the  least  tre 
pidation  she  drove  one  morning  to  the  Bank  of  France-; 
obtained  an  interview  with  Count  d'Argout,  the  governor ; 
exhibited  to  him  the  ample  though  depressed  securities  in 
her  husband's  pcrte-feuille ;  and  by  her  forcible  statements 
succeeded  in  securing  a  loan  of  several  millions  of  francs, 
which  not  only  removed  all  danger  of  insolvency,  but  added 
greatly  to  the  strength  and  prestige  of  the  bank  of  Welles  & 
Co.  This  extraordinary  negotiation  naturally  surprised  all 
those  who  had  hitherto  regarded  Mrs.  Welles  as  a  mere  woman 
of  fashion,  and,  as  the  incident  became  known,  it  brought  down 
from  every  side  showers  of  compliments  and  hearty  expressions 
of  admiration.  I  shall  have  occasion  hereafter  to  speak  of  this 
accomplished  woman,  whose  friendship  it  was  my  good  fortune 
to  enjoy 


CHAPTER  XL 

PARIS  (continued). 

THE  U.S.  MINISTER — PRESENTATION  AT  COURT — EFFECT  ON  THE  AMERICAN  MIND. 

IN  the  month  of  December  rumours  began  circulating  among 
my  countrymen  in  Paris  that  a  presentation  at  Court  was  shortly 
to  take  place,  and  a  steady  tide  of  solicitation  at  once  set  in 
upon  the  American  Minister  to  secure  the  coveted  honour. 
Ardent  as  the  rest  to  participate  in  the  ceremony,  I  armed  my 
self  with  the  letters  of  introduction  I  had  brought,  and  made  my 
way  to  the  residence  of  Mr.  Edward  Livingston,  then  our  Envoy 
to  France.  I  felt  a  lively  curiosity  to  see  this  distinguished 
man,  who  was  regarded  as  one  of  our  foremost  statesmen.  He 
began  his  career  in  New  York  as  a  member  of  the  Bar.  After 
holding  the  office  of  Recorder  of  the  city,  he  was  sent  to  Con 
gress.  Later  on  he  removed  to  New  Orleans,  where  he  soon 
acquired  a  lucrative  practice.  In  1815  he  figured  as  the  adju 
tant  of  General  Jackson  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans.  He  was 
always  remarkable  for  his  ready  wit,  and  gave  a  proof  of  it  on 
this  occasion.  A  merchant  of  the  town,  who  had  volunteered  as 
a  combatant,  discovered  to  his  annoyance  some  of  his  finest 
cotton  employed  for  the  redoubts.  Running  to  Livingston,  he 
protested  against  this  wanton  sacrifice,  when  an  inferior  quality 
would  answer  just  as  well. 

*  The  better  the  quality,'  said  Livingston  gravely,  *  the  more 
eager  you  will  be  to  defend  it ;'  and  rode  away. 

Not  long  after  the  victory  it  was  Livingston  who  suggested 
to  the  successful  commander  the  feasibility  of  his  reaching  the 
Presidency,  and  nine  years  later  General  Jackson  appeared 
as  a  candidate.  In  1821  Mr.  Livingston  was  appointed  by  the 
Legislature  to  draw  up  a  criminal  code  for  Louisiana,  which  is 
regarded  as  one  of  his  greatest  achievements  in  jurisprudence. 
In  1831,  on  the  resignation  of  Mr.  Van  Buren,  he  succeeded  him 
as  Secretary  of  State,  and  was  the  author  of  the  eloquent  Pro 
clamation  against  the  nullification  doctrines  of  South  Carolina. 


Paris.  161 

In  1833  he  was  sent  as  Minister  to  France  to  'claim  five'  millions 
of  dollars,  as  indemnity  for  spoliations  on  our  commerce  during 
the  wars  of  Napoleon,  and  which  was  finally  obtained. 

It  is  worthy  of  notice  that  Robert  L.  Livingston,  an  elder 
brother  of  Edward,  was  Minister  to  France  under  the  Administra 
tion  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  and  in  1803  boldly  negotiated  the  purchase 
of  Louisiana  from  the  French  Government  for  fifteen  millions  of 
dollars,  without  the  authority  of  the  President,  and  in  contra 
vention  of  the  Constitution.  The  acquisition  was  of  such  incal 
culable  value  that  the  President  and  Congress  readily,  indorsed 
the  treaty,  and  provided  for  the  payment  agreed  on.  It  now  fell 
to  the  lot  of  another  member  of  the  same  family  to  act  as  the 
American  Plenipotentiary  at  Paris,  and  to  secure  a  second  finan 
cial  triumph.  If  the  two  brothers  had  done  no  other  work, 
these  diplomatic  feats  would  have  perpetuated  their  memories  ; 
but  as  jurists,  writers,  and  orators  they  have  left  such  indelible 
marks  of  genius  that  the  name  of  Livingston  is  still  honoured  as 
one  of  the  brightest  in  our  annals. 

I  was  cordially  received  on  the  morning  of  my  visit  just  re 
ferred  to,  and,  whilst  the  Minister  was  looking  over  the  letters  I 
delivered,  I  had  a  brief  opportunity  to  scrutinise  him.  He  was 
a  tall  slim  man,  his  head  small  and  features  ordinary,  save 
the  eye,  which  was  uncommonly  bright  and  searching.  His  man 
ner  was  somewhat  formal,  but  courteous.  He  chatted  pleasantly 
about  the  friends  who  had  recommended  me  to  his  notice,  and 
as  I  was  preparing  to  leave  he  said, 

*  Would  you  like  to  go  to  Court  ?  I  am  making  out  a  list  for 
the  next  presentation,  and  it  would  give  me  pleasure  to  add 
your  name/ 

I  assured  him  nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure,  as  I 
was  full  of  eagerness  to  see  one  of  the  most  remarkable  men  in 
Europe,  the  King  of  the  French. 

'  Very  well/  he  added,  smiling  ;  '  make  your  preparations. 
You  have  still  ten  days  to  get  up  your  Court  costume.' 

I  went  away  in  high  spirits,  and  hurried  to  my  tailor,  who 
took  my  measure  forthwith  for  the  usual  Court  dress, — blue  coat 
with  gold-embroidered  collar  and  lapels,  and  white  cassimere 
trousers  with  gold  band. 

I  was  not  a  little  jubilant  at  the  prospect  of  going  to  Court. 
The  sight  of  a  real  king  and  queen  would  be  a  novelty  of  the 
rarest  kind.  Hitherto  I  had  seen  none  but  those  who  *  strutted 


io%2  Paris. 


fretted  their  hour  upon  the  stage,  and  then  were  heard  no 
more.'  It  would  be  exciting  enough  to  see  royalty  in  proprid 
personti  ;  but  when  the  king  I  was  to  behold  was  no  other  than 
Louis  Philippe,  one  of  the  most  conspicuous  sovereigns  of  his 
time,  the  effect  was  doubly  stirring. 

He  was  born  in  1773,  and  was  the  eldest  son  of  the  Duke  of 
Orleans,  who  was  nicknamed  Egalite'  during  the  first  Revolution. 
He  began  his  career  in  the  army  under  General  Dumouriez,  and 
gained  distinction  at  the  battles  of  Valmy  and  Jemappes.  To 
escape  arrest  by  the  revolutionists,  he  fled  into  Switzerland, 
where,  to  obtain  subsistence,  he  became  a  professor,  on  a  salary 
of  300  dollars  a  year.  His  father  was  beheaded  in  1793,  and, 
though  heir  to  such  vast  possessions,  the  son  was  well-nigh  pen 
niless.  After  this  he  found  his  way  to  the  United  States,  and,  it 
is  said,  kept  a  school  there.  It  is  also  stated  that  in  Philadel 
phia  he  fell  in  love  with  Miss  Willing,  a  belle  of  the  town,  and 
proposed  marriage,  which  her  father  refused,  saying, 

'  If  you  are  the  Duke  of  Orleans,  then  my  daughter  is  no 
match  for  you  ;  and  if  you  are  not,  then  you  are  none  for  her.' 
The  shrewd  merchant  feared  the  possible  repudiation  of  his 
daughter  should  the  Duke  recover  his  position  and  estates. 

In  1  800  he  embarked  for  England  ;  and  in  1809  married  Marie 
Ame*lie,  daughter  of  the  King  of  Naples,  a  most  estimable  woman. 
In  1814,  after  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  he  returned  to  France,  and  was 
restored  to  his  immense  property.  He  then  began  manoeuvring 
to  supersede  his  cousin  Charles  X.  on  the  throne,  just  as  his 
father  had  done  in  the  case  of  the  ill-fated  Louis  XVI.  Louis 
Philippe  was  more  fortunate,  and  by  adroit  management  got 
himself  proclaimed  king  after  the  Revolution  of  1830.  He  soon 
discovered  it  was  no  bed  of  roses  he  was  reposing  on.  He  was 
a  man  of  rare  capacity,  and  wished  to  govern  in  his  own  way, 
whereas  the  politicians  who  assisted  him  wanted  to  manage 
things  to  suit  themselves.  He  made  Lafitte,  the  banker,  his  first 
prime  minister  ;  but  after  four  months  of  squabbling  the  irate 
Lafitte  threw  up  his  post,  and  begged  '  God  to  forgive  him  for 
having  made  Louis  Philippe  king.'  Very  like  the  language  of 
Buckingham  when  Richard  gave  him  the  cold  shoulder  : 

'  And  is  it  thus  !  repays  he  my  deep  service 
With  such  contempt  1    Made  I  him  king  for  this?* 

The  only  two  men  the  King  had  reason  to  fear  were  Thiers 
and  Guizot,  who  were  likely  to  be  the  torment  of  his  reign. 


Pans.  1 03 

Whether  he  would  be  able  to  control  them,  or  whether  they 
would  prove  more  than  a  match  for  him,  was  the  problem  of  the 
future.  There  were  also  two  parties — the  Legitimists,  who  clung 
to  the  old  dynasty,  and  the  Republicans,  who  wanted  no  king  at 
all — who  were  on  the  qui  vive,  and  would  try  to  upset  Louis 
Philippe  on  the  first  opportunity.  The  country  seemed  con 
tented,  and  an  era  of  great  prosperity  was  dawning,  if  the  poli 
ticians  did  not  mar  it.  All  these  reflections  made  me  doubly 
ardent  to  contemplate  the  monarch  whose  course  Europe  was 
watching  closely. 

On  the  26th  I  received  a  note  from  the  American  Minister,  in 
forming  me  that  the  presentation  was  to  take  place  the  following 
evening,  and  desiring  me  to  come  to  the  Legation  at  eight  o'clock,, 
to  accompany  him  to  the  Tuileries.  On  the  night  in  question  I 
managed,  with  the  aid  of  my  tailor,  and  after  laborious  effort,  ta 
get  into  my  uniform,  and,  when  duly  buttoned  and  hooked,  was, 
told  by  the  complacent  artiste  to  contemplate  myself  in  the 
mirror.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  exchanged  simple  broad 
cloth  for  a  uniform  of  any  kind,  and  to  see  my  person  adorned 
in  gold  lace,  with  a  sword  at  my  side  and  a  diapeau  under  my 
arm,  was  a  sensation  intensely  novel.  I  thought  myself  quite 
gorgeous  enough  to  (  set  before  a  king  ;'  but  there  was  a  draw 
back,  however,  to  my  felicity.  The  stand-up  collar  of  my  coat 
was  hooked  under  my  chin,  which  threw  my  head  into  the  air, 
and  cut  me  off  from  all  view  of  my  locus  standi.  I  protested 
loudly  against  the  discomfort  of  my  position,  but  the  tailor  posi 
tively  refused  to  release  me  ;  and  so,  bidding  a  temporary  farewell 
to  my  nether  limbs,  I  drove  off  to  the  Legation.  I  found  several 
carnages  already  there,  containing  the  happy  few  selected  for  the 
occasion. 

Following  the  equipage  of  Mr.  Livingston,  we  all  set  off  for 
the  palace.  As  I  ascended  the  broad  marble  staircase,  brilliantly 
lit  up,  of  this  venerable  edifice  my  mind  teemed  with  a  thousand 
recollections  of  its  romantic  history.  Above  all,  the  thrilling 
events  of  which  it  was  the  scene  during  the  sanguinary  days  of 
the  first  Revolution  came  crowding  back  upon  me.  I  recalled  the 
frantic  yelling  mob  of  Paris,  which  rushed  up  these  very  stairs 
to  force  the  unfortunate  Louis  XVI.  to  garnish  his  head  with  the 
red  cap  of  liberty. 

On  reaching  the  top,  we  crossed  a  vestibule,  and  entered  a 
jong  and  lofty  apartment,  richly  gilded,  and  embellished  with 


104  Paris. 

paintings.  The  floor  was  in  polished  oak,  and  I  had  so  much 
difficulty  in  keeping  my  perpendicular  on  its  slippery  surface 
that,  in  defiance  of  the  tailor's  injunctions,  I  let  go  hook  and  eye, 
and  recovered  the  consciousness  of  my  whereabouts,  We  were 
then  admitted  to  the  '  Presence  Chamber/  a  large  square  hall, 
with  vaulted  ceiling,  and  a  balcony  running  completely  round  it. 
The  panels  were  decorated  with  highly-finished  portraits  of  the 
marshals  of  France,  which  gave  it  the  name  of  the  Salle  des 
Marechaux.  Here  we  came  to  a  halt,  and  were  drawn  up  in  line, 
with  our  Minister  at  the  head,  standing  forward.  We  found 
nearly  a  hundred  persons  assembled,  representing  the  various 
nationalities  of  Europe,  each  accompanied  by  its  respective  am 
bassador,  and  all  standing  in  line.  It  was  easy  to  recognise  the 
English  delegation  from  the  number  of  scarlet  uniforms. 

The  effect  was  very  imposing,  from  the  variety  of  splendid 
costumes.  I  had  never  seen  such  a  pageant  before.  Each 
nationality  occupied  a  position  according  to  the  seniority  of  its 
ambassador.  The  English  stood  first,  and  we  last,  as  Mr.  Living 
ston  was  the  most  newly  accredited. 

After  all  had  arrived  and  taken  their  places,  a  short  interval 
ensued,  when  a  large  double-door  was  thrown  open,  and  the 
master  of  ceremonies  entered,  announcing  in  a  loud  voice, l  Le 
Roi  /' — the  King — who  immediately  afterwards  appeared,  fol 
lowed  by  the  Queen,  the  Princes  and  Princesses,  with  a  numerous 
suite  of  chamberlains  and  aides-de-camp.  All  made  a  loyal  obeis 
ance  as  the  royal  family  filed  in.  The  King  advanced  to  the 
English  Ambassador,  first  in  order,  spoke  to  him  pleasantly,  and 
then  began  going  down  the  line,  the  master  of  ceremonies  pre 
ceding  his  majesty,  and  pronouncing  the  name  of  each  person  as 
he  approached.  To  some  the  King  simply  bowed  ;  to  others  he 
addressed  a  few  words. 

The  same  ceremony  was  repeated  with  the  Queen  and  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  heir  to  the  throne  ;  but  the  other  members  of 
the  family  merely  saluted  as  they  passed.  This  performance  was 
slow,  and  gave  me  ample  time  to  direct  my  attention  to  all  in 
turn.  The  King  was  then  sixty-one.  He  was  above  medium 
height  and  very  robust.  His  face  was  genial,  but  had  an  expres 
sion  of  profound  subtlety,  his  chief  characteristic.  His  manner 
was  easy,  gracious,  and  free  from  all  hauteur.  He  was  clad  in 
the  uniform  of  a  general  of  the  National  Guard  :  blue  coat  with 
silver  epaulettes  and  embroidery,  and  the  star  and  red  ribbon  of 


Paris.  105 

the  Legion  of  Honour.  He  particularly  affected  this  costume,  out 
of  compliment  to  the  middle  class,  who  composed  the  National 
Guard,  and  had  been  ardent  for  his  elevation  to  the  throne. 

The  Queen  greatly  interested  me.  She  was  a  tall,  slender, 
graceful  woman,  with  a  countenance  full  of  benignity,  tinged 
with  a  certain  sadness,  as  if  she  already  foresaw  the  calamities  of 
the  future.  The  Duke  of  Orleans,  the  eldest  son,  and  just  twenty- 
four,  was  a  remarkably  handsome  youth.  His  face  beamed  with 
intelligence  and  amiability.  He  was  a  universal  favourite  with 
all  classes,  who  were  charmed  with  his  frank  and  generous  dis 
position.* 

At  last  the  King  reached  the  American  contingent.  He 
spoke  to  Mr.  Livingston  with  unusual  warmth,  and  his  manner 
grew  more  cordial  as  he  began  addressing  the  members  of  our 
little  band.  It  may  be  that  he  was  elated  at  getting  through  his 
tedious  work,  though  he  always  manifested  partiality  for  Ameri 
cans,  and  liked  to  refer  to  his  residence  among  them.  When  my 
turn  came,  and  name  and  town  were  mentioned,  his  Majesty  said  : 

'  Ah,  Philadelphia  ;  I  remember  it  well.  I  received  much 
kindness  there,  from  the  Willings,  the  Binghams,  and  many 
more.  I  hope  it  will  always  prosper.' 

I  bent  low  to  these  gracious  compliments,  and  fortunate  it 
was  my  head  was  no  longer  in  durance  vile.  I  made  no  reply, 
save  a  deferential  bow,  as  etiquette  forbids  addressing  royalty, 
unless  a  question  is  put.  The  King  spoke  in  English  to  the 
Americans,  and  admirably  too,  whilst  he  addressed  the  others  in 
French.  I  glanced  at  the  Princesses  as  they  passed,  and  both 
were  very  pretty.  The  elder,  Marie,  was  already  distinguished 
in  art.  Her  statue  of  Jeanne  d'Arc  was  considered  a  master 
piece.  The  King  and  royal  family  retired  in  the  order  they  had 
entered,  and  we  were  then  free  to  depart. 

For  my  part,  I  fain  would  have  lingered  and  wandered  for 
hours  about  this  old  palace,  so  closely  identified  with  the  names 
and  history  of  the  great  monarchs  of  France.  The  scene  I  had 
witnessed  was  so  new,  the  spectacle  so  glittering,  and  the  per 
sonages  with  whom  I  had  momentarily  come  in  contact  so  ex 
alted,  that  it  was  really  trying  to  be  obliged  to  turn  round  and 
descend  to  common  life.  It  was  curious  to  note  the  effect  pro 
duced  on  the  Americans  on  their  first  encounter  with  royalty. 

*  This  popular  Prince  was  killed  in  the  summer  of  1842,  by  jumping  out  of  his 
carriage  whilst  the  horses  vA'ere  running  away. 


106  Paris. 

Some  were  amused,  others  interested,  hardly  any  deeply  im 
pressed.  They  discussed  the  King's  appearance,  manners,  and 
remarks  ;  made  no  reference  to  his  station,  or  allusion  to  his 
history  ;  and  were  indifferent  to  the  fact  that  he  represented  the 
family  which  had  reigned  over  France  for  centuries. 

The  American  mind  is  rarely  sentimental ;  it  views  things 
for  the  most  part  in  a  matter-of-fact  practical  light.  A  king  or 
a  queen,  whatever  his  or  her  power  or  history,  and  however  sur 
rounded  by  pomp  and  splendour,  is  looked  upon  simply  as  a 
man  or  a  woman.  It  fails  to  discern  the  '  divinity  that  doth  hedge 
a  king.'  This  is  the  natural  result  of  education  and  training. 
With  us  all  grow  up  with  the  conviction  that  they  are  equals  ; 
that  one  is  as  good  as,  and  no  better  than,  the  other;  and  are 
never  taught  to  bend  the  knee  or  doff  the  cap  to  any,  whatever 
their  superiority  in  intellect  or  fortune.  Respect  there  may  be, 
but  homage  there  is  none.  Our  highest  functionaries  are  regarded 
as  merely  the  servants  of  the  people,  paid  to  perform  their 
allotted  political  work,  and  entitled  to  no  especial  deference  on 
account  of  their  position.  This  is  Republicanism,  which  appeals 
to  the  reason  of  men,  and  ignores  their  imagination.  How  dif 
ferent  the  case  with  Europeans,  who  from  childhood  are  im 
bued  with  a  feeling  of  almost  superstitious  awe  for  their  kings, 
bound  up  as  they  have  been  for  ages  with  the  national  history  ; 
their  separate  reigns  constituting  epochs  associated  with  the 
prosperity  or  misfortunes  of  their  country.  Indeed,  it  is  hardly 
strange  the  masses  should  consider  a  monarch  as  almost  a  hal 
lowed  being,  occupying  as  he  does  a  sphere  so  much  exalted 
above  the  ordinary  level  of  humanity,  and  invested  with  so 
much  power,  state,  and  ceremony.  It  is  really  phenomenal  that 
from  the  dawn  of  history  there  have  existed,  and  still  exist,  over 
the  greater  part  of  the  world,  a  select  class  of  beings  who  seem 
to  have  been  chosen  by  Providence  for  the  government  of  the 
rest.  However  repugnant  to  democratic  doctrine,  however 
futile  in  the  eye  of  philosophy,  they  still  survive,  and  have  been 
through  all  time  a  tribe  apart,  revolving  like  planets  in  a  lofty 
orbit  of  their  own,  disposing  of  the  fate  of  men  and  nations, 
and  accustomed  to  the  obedience,  deference,  and  fealty  of  man 
kind.  Truly,  as  Shelley  writes, 

'  Kings  are  like  stars — they  rise  and  set ;  they  have 
The  worship  of  the  world.' 

Surely  monarchy  must  have  a  solid  base  and  a  secure  foot- 


Paris.  107 

hold  in  human  nature  that  it  endures  and  prospers  in  spite  of 
what  Choate  calls  '  the  glittering  and  sounding  generalities  of 
natural  right  ;'  in  spite  of  Burke's  assertion  that  '  the  age  of 
chivalry  is  gone ;'  in  spite  of  rebellion,  revolutions,  and  wars. 
In  France  it  was  once  torn  up  by  the  roots  amid  whirlwind  and 
tempest ;  and  yet  it  reappeared,  and  flourished  anew.  It  might 
be  a  thing  of '  shreds  and  patches/  but  still  it  seemed  to  bear  a 
4  charmed  life.' 


CHAPTER  XII. 

PARIS  (continued). 

THE  GRAND  OPERA— THEATRES— GREAT  ARTISTES —MASKED  BALLS. 

WITH  my  decided  taste  for  the  stage  it  can  easily  be  imagined 
that  I  was  overwhelmed  by  the  bewildering  variety  and  excel 
lence  of  theatrical  amusement  that  Paris  afforded.  Every  form 
of  dramatic  composition  had  its  special  temple,  and  consummate 
artistes  for  the  interpretation  of  each.  Till  now  I  had  no  con 
ception  of  all  the  skill  and  talent  that  could  be  displayed  ia 
depicting  sentiment  and  passion  on  the  stage.  I  had  already 
seen  some  remarkable  specimens  of  good  acting,  as  described  ; 
but  I  recognised  that  English  acting  had  something  about  it 
artificial  and  conventional  in  contrast  to  the  French,  which  was 
so  natural  and  apparently  unstudied.  The  enjoyment  I  derived 
from  opera,  tragedy,  comedy,  and  farce  during  my  first  winter  in 
Paris  was  as  complete  as  varied.  No  wonder  I  was  wafted  to  such 
an  altitude  of  delight,  for  I  discovered  later  that  a  galaxy  of 
genius  of  every  kind  flourished  at  this  period  that  has  never  been 
equalled  since.  I  will  not  attempt  any  delineation  of  the  won 
derful  artistes  grouped  together  in  Paris  at  this  epoch,  but  merely 
select  a  few  of  the  places  of  entertainment,  with  their  dazzling 
pleiades,  that  charmed  and  impressed  me  the  strongest. 

The  most  renowned  of  the  theatrical  establishments  of  Paris 
was  the  Grand  Opera,  as  the  French  Academy  of  Music  was 
usually  called.  It  was  chiefly  devoted  to  the  French  school,  but 
foreign  composers  were  not  excluded.  It  received  a  large  sub 
vention  from  the  Government,  and  its  outlay  was  prodigious. 
Opera  and  ballet  were  produced  here  on  a  scale  nowhere  ap 
proached  in  Europe.  The  opera  then  most  in  vogue  was 
Robert  le  Diable,  the  popular  work  of  Meyerbeer,  and  first  pro 
duced  here.  The  music  was  fascinating,  and  in  style  partly 
German  and  partly  French  ;  the  gravity  and  power  of  the  one 
blending  with  the  vivacity  and  melody  of  the  other.  Sung  and 
played  as  it  was  by  Nourrit  the  tenor,  Levasseur  the  baritone,, 


Paris.  109 

and  those  peerless  queens  of  song,  Falcon  and  Damoreau ;  sus 
tained,  too,  by  an  orchestra  of  near  a  hundred,  and  all  masters  of 
their  instruments, — it  was  really  a  feast  for  the  gods.  The  scenic 
effects  of  this  opera  were  really  incomparable  ;  and  to  heighten 
the  ensemble  the  ballet  was  introduced  in  a  manner  as  startling 
as  original. 

It  was  sad  that  two  of  the  most  brilliant  of  this  vocal  group 
closed  their  careers  not  long  after  in  the  most  melancholy  man 
ner.  Mdlle.  Falcon,  in  the  height  of  her  youth  and  beauty, 
and  with  one  of  the  most  enchanting  organs  ever  heard,  was 
abruptly  obliged  to  abandon  the  stage  by  the  extinction  of  her 
voice.  It  disappeared  in  a  moment  like  a  flash,  and  never 
returned.  Nourrit,  the  finest  tenor  in  Europe,  and  an  actor 
of  surpassing  grace,  left  the  French  Opera  to  play  an  engage 
ment  in  Italy.  He  had  hardly  abandoned  his  lyric  throne 
before  a  new  singer  appeared,  Duprez,  and  achieved  an  immense 
success".  Poor  Nourrit,  stung  beyond  endurance  by  his  rival's 
triumphs,  lost  his  reason  and  committed  suicide. 

At  the  very  moment  that  opera  culminated  in  the  produc 
tion  of  Meyerbeer's  chef-d'ceuvre,  the  ballet  rose  to  a  pinnacle  of 
splendour  never  seen  before.  Taglioni  in  the  Sylphide,  and 
Fanny  Elssler  in  Le  Diable  Boiteux,  contested  earnestly  for  the 
palm,  and  Paris  was  divided  into  enthusiastic  camps.  The  grace 
and  bounding  pirouettes  of  Taglioni  were  fervently  applauded; 
but  the  pantomimic  power,  the  marvellous  tours  de  force,  and 
the  expressive  beauty  of  Elssler's  face  and  figure,  enraptured  all. 
.Her  cachuca  was  pronounced  the  beau  idfal  of  picturesque  atti 
tude  and  voluptuous  posture.  Taglioni  had  no  gift  for  pas  de 
caractere, — character  dances, — to  which  class  the  cachuca  belongs. 
Consequently  Fanny  Elssler  obtained  an  ascendency  over  her 
brilliant  rival,  and  was  acclaimed  la  deesse  de  la  danse.  The 
cachuca  was  Fanny  Elssler's  own  composition,  for,  though  of  the 
Spanish  type,  no  such  dance  was  known  till  she  invented  it. 
Singular  to  say,  it  made  another  woman's  fortune.  Mdlle. 
Duvernay,  a  secondary  dancer  of  the  Opera,  but  a  very  hand 
some  person,  studied  night  after  night  Fanny  Elssler's  execu 
tion  of  this  bewitching  dance,  and,  when  she  thought  herself 
equal  to  undertake  it,  went  over  to  London,  and  produced  it  at 
Drury  Lane  Theatre.  It  made  a  great  sensation,  and  so  com 
pletely  entranced  an  Englishman  of  fortune,  Lyne  Stephens,  that 
he  offered  his  hand  to  Duvernay.  Nothing  loth  to  resign  her 


1 1  o  Paris. 

temporary  triumph,  she  accepted  it,  retired  from  the  stage,  and 
lived  afterwards  in  great  luxury. 

Though  not  insensible  to  the  fascinations  of  the  ballet, 
my  chief  delight  was  in  music,  and  the  inimitable  voices  and 
acting  of  Nourriot  and  Falcon,  cum  multis  aliis,  enchanted  me 
far  more  than  all  the  aerial  flights  of  Taglioni  and  Elssler.  By 
what  strange  concatenation  of  events  it  was  my  destiny,  only 
four  years  later,  to  be  mixed  up  with  the  fortunes  of  the  peerless 
Fanny  Elssler,  will  be  truthfully  related  in  due  course,  and  will 
go  far,  I  hope,  to  explain  a  feat  of  knight-errantry  that  I  little 
dreamt  was  in  reserve  for  me. 

I  often  frequented  the  Theatre  Frangais,  which  was  the 
classical  home  of  French  tragedy  and  comedy.  It  also  received 
a,  liberal  subvention  from  the  State.  It  was  on  this  stage  that 
the  renowned  Talma  achieved  his  great  reputation  ;  and  his  suc 
cessor  at  this  period  was  Ligier,  whose  acting  in  an  adaptation 
of  Richard  III.,  called  the  Children  of  Edward,  was  certainly 
most  effective.  In  sombre  energy  and  startling  effects  of  facial 
expression  he  was  not  surpassed  even  by  the  elder  Booth  in  this 
striking  rdle. 

But  the  most  remarkable  artiste  of  this  theatre  was  the  cele 
brated  Mdlle.  Mars,  one  of  the  great  celebrities  of  her  epoch. 
She  was  fifty-five  when  I  first  saw  her,  but  so  wonderfully  pre 
served,  that  she  still  looked  young  on  the  stage.  Her  hair  was 
dark  and  abundant,  her  skin  fresh,  her  eyes  brilliant,  and  her 
figure  perfect.  These  are  easily  described  ;  but  her  grace,  ele 
gance,  and  above  all,  the  musical  sweetness  of  her  voice,  are « 
beyond  any  pen.  Janin,  the  critic,  said  of  her  :  '  She  was  an 
actress  in  her  lightest  gesture,  her  smile,  even  in  the  plait  of  her 
robe,  in  the  form  and  colour  of  her  costumes,  and  in  the  infinite 
resources  of  a  skill  that  was  never  exhausted.  Who  could  resist 
that  seduction,  always  restrained  within  the  most  correct  limits, 
that  unaffected  earnestness,  that  natural  passion,  that  fascination 
which  obeyed  all  the  rules  of  taste,  good  sense,  of  grace  and 
sentiment  ?' 

An  English  critic  wrote  thus  :  '  Her  diction  was  perfect,  and 
she  possessed  above  all  other  actresses  that  knowledge  of 
the  stage  and  that  delicacy  of  touch  which  gave  just  the  right 
inflexion  to  each  point,  and  no  more.  In  her  acting  there 
was  never  the  slightest  straining  after  effect,  and  she  spoke  her 
part  just  as  a  ladv  might  make  a  witty,  or  racy,  or  pathetic 


Paris.  in 

remark  in  her  drawing-room.  Every  movement,  every  intona 
tion,  was  intensely  studied,  but  seemed  perfectly  natural.  There 
was  a  certain  chaste  reserve  even  in  the  scenes  of  passionate 
love,  and  a  propriety  observed  even  in  the  most  risque  passages. 
One  was  charmed,  melted,  touched  rather,  perhaps,  than  power 
fully  moved.' 

It  was  her  singular  fortune,  only  two  years  before  she  left  the 
stage,  and  at  the  ripe  age  of  sixty,  to  play  the  heroine  in  a 
piece  written  for  her  by  Alexandre  Dumas,  called  Mdlle.  de  Belle- 
hie^  which  was  pronounced  one  of  her  most  beautiful  creations 
by  the  delighted  crowds  that  flocked  to  the  theatre.  Knowing  it 
was  her  last  role,  she  threw  into  it  all  the  charms  of  her  immense 
talent,  and  it  was  never  eclipsed  by  any  acting  I  have  seen  since. 
In  private  life  Mdlle.  Mars  was  much  esteemed,  and  her  salon 
always  crowded.  Gronow  says  of  her,  '  Though  not  altogether 
immaculate,  she  never  ran  into  the  excesses  so  common  to  many 
persons  of  her  profession  in  those  days,  and  managed  to  preserve 
a  tolerably  fair  reputation/ 

Among  the  smaller  theatres  where  vaudeville  reigned  supreme 
there  was  none  more  popular  than  the  Palais  Royal,  and  great 
numbers  were  attracted  thither  this  winter  to  see  a  piece  entitled 
Fretillon,  which  portrayed  the  piquant  vicissitudes  of  a  courte 
san's  career.  In  the  first  scene  she  was  found  in  the  garret  where 
she  was  born,  and  by  successive  stages  on  her  path  of  folly  she 
arrived  at  the  possession  of  a  fine  house,  a  rich  equipage,  and  all 
the  luxuries  that  money  could  command.  At  the  close  she  re 
turned  to  the  attic  whence  she  set  out,  and  renewed  the  life  of  pri 
vation  familiar  to  her  earlier  years.  Throughout  all  her  adven 
tures  she  retained  her  merry  disposition  and  good  heart,  and  was  as 
vivacious  and  rollicsome  over  her  washtub  and  bread-and-cheese 
as  in  the  ephemeral  days  of  her  opulence.  There  was  no  actress 
in  Paris  who  could  depict  such  a  character  with  the  same  ease 
and  grace  as  Mdlle.  Dejazet,  for  long  years  the  idol  of  the  public. 
She  was  not  handsome,  but  short  and  thin,  yet  from  the  moment 
she  made  her  entrte  her  audience  was  captivated  and  enthralled. 
Her  voice  was  shrill  and  unmusical  ;  but  she  threw  such  expres 
sion  into  the  couplets  it  is  the  French  fashion  to  introduce  in 
their  light  pieces  that  she  rarely  escaped  an  encore.  I  was  not 
a  little  shocked  at  the  immorality  of  this  play.  I  considered  it 
a  gross  violation  of  bonos  mores  to  delineate  on  the  stage  the  in 
decent  fluctuations  of  a  frail  woman's  life  ;  but  these  were  Ame- 


1 1 2  Paris. 

rican  views  that  it  would  have  been  hard  to  make  French  people 
comprehend.  They  saw  nothing  in  it  but  the  inevitable  phases 
of  a  precarious  mode  of  life,  and  applauded  the  imperturbable 
good-humour  of  the  philosophic  Fretillon  in  her  reverses  of  for 
tune  as  much  as  they  admired  her  bountiful  disposition  in  the 
midst  of  plenty. 

An  affecting  story  was  just  at  that  time  going  the  rounds  of 
the  papers,  which  showed  that  all  the  Fretillons  of  Paris  were  not 
endowed  with  the  elastic  temper  of  the  heroine  of  the  Palais 
Royal  Theatre.  A  young  modiste  of  Paris,  only  twenty,  said  to 
be  very  pretty,  and  surrounded  by  adorers,  not  content  with  the 
usual  dissipation  of  such  a  life,  had  contracted  the  habit  of  gam 
bling.  In  the  course  of  three  years  she  had  thrown  away  a  large 
sum  of  money,  and  at  last  she  found  herself  stripped  of  every 
sou  and  abandoned  by  her  admirers.  Under  these  circumstances, 
too  idle  to  work,  and  too  poor  to  live  without  it,  she  calmly  re 
solved  on  suicide.  Before  lighting  the  charcoal  she  sat  down 
and  indited  the  following  letter  to  her  mother : 

My  dear  Mamma, — The  year  just  passed  has  been  to  me  a  very 
unhappy  one.  I  hope  that  the  one  now  commencing  will  bring 
you  those  consolations  you  stand  in  need  of.  You  know,  my  dear 
mamma,  that  for  some  time  past  my  resources  have  been  daily 
diminishing.  It  is  painful  to  live  in  privation  after  one  has  been 
accustomed  to  luxury.  It  is  disagreeable  to  work  after  one  has 
been  free,  and  habituated  from  early  youth  to  follow  one's  pur 
suits  and  one's  pleasures.  Then  forgive  me,  my  dear  mamma,  if, 
having  lost  all  those  advantages  that  I  ought  to  have  been  more 
careful  of,  I  do  not  want  now  to  sigh  over  my  misfortunes.  Alas, 
my  pen  refuses  to  obey  my  will,  or  I  would  paint  to  you  all  my 
past  tribulations.  But  death  is  waiting  for  me,  and  I  shall  be 
gone  before  midday.  So  I  kiss  you,  my  dear  mamma,  as  I  love 
you — that  is  to  say,  with  all  my  soul. — Your  affectionate  daughter, 

JOSEPHINE. 

Paris,  Jan.  i,  1835. 

From  what  I  had  seen  of  the  French,  I  should  say  that  the 
Fre'tillon  of  the  theatre  was  a  truer  representative  of  the  national 
character  than  the  forlorn  creature  who  preferred  the  oblivious 
fumes  of  charcoal  to  the  loss  of  those  vapid  pleasures  which  con 
stituted  the  sole  charm  of  her  existence.  The  French  are  blessed 
with  a  mixture  of  philosophy  and  levity  that  enables  them  to 


Paris.  113 

accept  the  harshest  decrees  of  Fate  with  a  resignation  which  a 
stoic  might  envy.  The  only  nation  at  all  like  them  in  this  re 
spect  are  the  Americans,  who  are  equally  remarkable  for  buoy 
ancy  of  character ;  but  then  they  are  still  a  young  people,  and 
their  country  offers  resources  for  the  renewal  of  a  broken  career 
not  to  be  found  in  an  overcrowded  community  like  that  of 
France. 

The  only  other  theatre  I  shall  mention  that  was  much  in 
fashion  this  winter  was  the  Porte  St.  Martin,  the  favourite  abode 
of  melodrama.  The  play  .that  crammed  the  house  every  night 
was  the  production  of  Victor  Hugo,  the  well-known  Lucrtce 
Borgia.  The  piece  had  unquestionable  dramatic  merit.  The 
incidents  were  vivid  and  the  action  rapid  ;  the  language  power 
ful  ;  and  some  of  the  situations,  especially  that  in  the  last  act, 
were  thrilling.  But  the  prominent  feature,  the  incestuous  love  of  a 
sister  for  her  brother,  was  to  me  profoundly  disgusting  ;  and  even 
in  Paris  at  that  epoch  it  would  have  been  condemned,  but  for 
the  skilful  construction  of  the  play,  and  the  grand  and  sombre 
colouring  thrown  over  it  by  the  lurid  genius  of  its  author.  It 
was  afterwards  converted  into  an  opera  ;  and,  with  the  plot  dis 
guised  in  Italian,  and  embellished  with  the  exquisite  melody  of 
Donizetti,  it  has  become  one  of  the  most  popular  of  lyric  dramas. 

What  contributed  to  the  success  of  this  repulsive  play  was 
the  wonderful  acting  of  all  the  artistes  ;  but  the  one  who  most 
riveted  my  attention,  and  made  me  almost  forget  the  odious 
heroine  she  represented,  was  Mdlle.  George,  the  great  tragic 
actress  of  her  day.  Her  person,  bearing,  and  voice  imparted  a 
fascination  to  her  acting  that  was  irresistible.  She  was  still  re 
markable  for  that  majestic  beauty  which  tended  so  much  to 
heighten  the  effect  of  her  histrionic  genius,  and  which  contri 
buted  not  only  to  the  Mat  of  her  triumphs  on  the  stage,  but 
achieved  victories  in  private  life  which  gave  to  her  career  a  very 
romantic  interest. 

In  the  zenith  of  her  beauty  she  inspired  the  great  Napoleon 
with  an  ardent  passion,  and  numerous  anecdotes  are  related  in 
proof  of  her  empire  over  him,  some  of  which  it  may  be  amusing 
to  repeat.  On  one  occasion,  it  is  stated,  when  better  pleased 
with  her  than  usual,  pulling  her  by  the  ear,  which  was  his  favourite 
endearment,  he  told  her,  in  the  way  that  emperors  make  love,  to 
ask  for  anything  she  wanted.  The  actress  asked  very  sentiment 
ally  for  his  Majesty's  portrait. 

I 


1 1 4  Pans. 

'  O,  if  that  is  all  you  want/  said  Napoleon,  who  suspected  she 
only  meant  to  cajole  him, — '  if  that  is  all  you  want,  here  is  my 
portrait,  and  a  very  good  likeness  it  is.' 

He  then  handed  her  a  five-franc  piece  with  his  effigy  stamped 
upon  it. 

Nolte  in  his  '  Memoirs/  whilst  descanting  on  the  extraor 
dinary  career  of  Ouvrard,  the  French  army  contractor,  mentions 
that  he  also  was  one  of  the  ardent  votaries  at  the  shrine  of  the 
brilliant  actress.  He  goes  on  to  state  that  '  among  the  causes 
already  given  of  Napoleon's  secret  dislike  to  Ouvrard  were  others 
which,  in  so  excitable  a  temperament  as  that  of  Bonaparte,  were 
looked  upon  as  crimes.  All  Paris  had  known  for  a  long  time 
that  not  only  was  Napoleon  by  no  means  insensible  to  the  almost 
fabulous  beautyof  the  celebrated  actress, Mdlle.  George, but  that  he 
also  had  openly  become  the  first  and  most  favoured  of  her  admirers, 
and  figured  as  a  victor  where  other  aspirants  had  met  with  signa! 
defeat  This  liaison  was  no  secret  to  any  one,  not  even  tcT  Jose 
phine  the  Empress.  Napoleon,  who  up  to  that  time,  as  a  mere 
general,  had  found  no  special  occasion  to  plume  himself  upon 
any  great  success  with  the  fairer  half  of  creation,  was  more  for 
tunate  as  emperor,  and  was  readily  listened  to  by  the  rival 
beauties  of  the  day.  In  Mdlle.  George,  the  loveliest  woman  of 
her  time,  he  flattered  himself  that  he  really  had  made  a  com 
plete  conquest,  looked  upon  her  as  his  exclusive  property,  and 
had  become  enamoured  and  jealous.  Among  the  intelligence 
which  he  received  from  Paris,  on  the  day  after  the  battle  of  Aus- 
terlitz,  was  a  message  from  his  Minister  of  Police,  informing  him 
Mdlle.  George  had  passed  several  days  at  Ouvrard's  pleasure 
palace  at  Raincy,  and  had  there  performed  one  of  her  best  parts. 
General  Berthier,  who  had  hastened  onward  four-and-twenty 
hours  in  advance  of  the  Emperor,  instantly  sent  for  Ouvrard, 
and  intimated  to  him  that  this  circumstance  had  in  no  light 
degree  exasperated  the  Emperor,  and  accelerated  his  return  to 
Paris.1 

The  same  writer  adds  another  racy  narrative,  setting  forth 
the  piquant  rivalry  that  existed  between  Napoleon  and  Ouvrard 
touching  Mdlle.  George. 

*  It  was  rumoured  in  Paris/  he  says,  *  that  Fossin,  the  Court 
jeweller,  had  mounted  a  very  splendid  set  of  diamonds  that  the 
Empress  greatly  admired  and  desired  to  possess,  but  that  Napo 
leon  objected  to  buy  them,  as  too  costly.  Not  long  after  this  it 


Paris.  115 

was  announced  that  the  Emperor  and  Empress  would  attend 
the  Theatre  Frangais  to  see  a  new  play,  in  which  Talma  and 
Mdlle.  George  were  to  appear.  I  saw  them  enter  their  box  on 
the  left  of  the  house  and  take  their  seats,  Napoleon  foremost, 
and  Josephine  close  beside  him.  In  the  beginning  of  the  second 
act,  the  mimic  king  and  queen  of  the  play  came  upon  the  stage. 
Mdlle.  George,  in  the  full  splendour  of  her  incomparable  charms, 
heightened  the  imposing  scene  by  a  dazzling  diadem,  ear-drops, 
and  necklace,  all  glittering  with  the  most  superb  gems.  As  she 
approached  the  imperial  box,  Josephine,  who  was  leaning  for 
ward  on  the  front  rail,  betrayed  a  hasty  movement  of  surprise,, 
and  then  suddenly,  as  if  struck  by  lightning,  sank  back  into  her 
seat  ;  for  in  the  magnificent  adornment  of  the  actress  she  had 
recognised  the  very  jewels  she  had  been  so  anxious  to  obtain. 
During  this  little  episode  Napoleon  remained,  as  might  have 
been  expected,  entirely  unmoved.' 

it  was  generally  understood  that  the  current  gossip  of  Napo 
leon's  refusal  to  purchase  these  expensive  jewels,  valued  at  five 
hundred  thousand  francs,  stimulated  Ouvrard,  the  most  pro 
digal  of  men,  to  acquire  them  in  order  to  present  them  to  Mdlle. 
George,  who  was  nothing  loth,  of  course,  to  accept  such  a  mag 
nificent  token  of  the  great  financier's  admiration. 

This  is  not  the  only  instance  recorded  where  the  aspiring 
Ouvrard  ventured  to  struggle  with  the  potentate  of  Europe  for 
the  good  graces  of  Mdlle.  George.  Gronow  .recounts  another 
case  where  the  hero  of  a  hundred  battles  suffered  an  unexpected 
reverse  at  the  hands  of  the  capricious  actress.  He  writes  that 
'no  man  was  more  reckless  in  his  expenditure,  or  more  magni 
ficent  in  his  mode  of  living,  than  Ouvrard.  At  the  time  of  the 
Directory  ihcf/tes  given  by  him  at  Raincy  were  the  theme  of 
the  whole  of  Parisian  society  of  that  day.  At  his  splendid  villa, 
during  the  Empire,  he  was  in  the  habit  of  giving  suppers  to  his 
favourites  of  the  ballet  twice  a  week,  and  he  used  to  send  his 
carriages  for  his  fair  guests  after  the  performance  was  over. 
Then  an  enormous  white-marble  bath,  as  large  as  an  ordinary- 
sized  saloon,  was  prepared  for  such  of  the  ladies  as,  in  the  sum 
mer,  chose  to  bathe  on  their  arrival.  Then  a  splendid  supper 
was  laid  out,  of  which  the  lovely  naYads  and  many  of  the  plea 
sure-seekers  of  the  day  partook  ;  and,  besides  every  luxury  of 
the  culinary  art  prepared  by  the  best  cooks  of  Paris,  each  lady 
received  a  donation  of  fifty  louis,  and  the  one  fortunate  enough 


n6  Paris. 

to  attract  the  especial  notice  of  the  wealthy  host  a  large  sum  of 
money. 

'  Mdlle.  George,  the  celebrated  tragedian  of  that  epoch,  cost 
him,  as  he  was  fond  of  relating,  two  millions  and  one  hundred 
thousand  francs  for  a  single  visit.  He  had  invited  her  to  sup 
with  him  at  his  villa  ;  but  the  very  day  she  was  to  come  a  note 
informed  him  that  she  was  compelled  to  give  up  the  pleasure  of 
supping  with  him,  as  the  Emperor  Napoleon  had  given  her  a 
rendezvous  for  the  same  hour  which  she  dared  not  refuse. 
Ouvrard  was  furious  at  this  contretemps,  and,  as  he  said,  when  I 
heard  him  tell  the  story,  he  could  not  bear  to  yield  the  pas  to 
le  petit  Bonaparte,  whom  he  had  known  as  a  young  captain  of 
artillery,  too  happy  to  be  invited  to  his  house  in  the  days  of  the 
Directory.  This  feeling,  and  his  pride  of  wealth,  got  the  better 
of  his  prudence,  and  he  sent  to  Mdlle.  George  to  insist  upon  her 
coming  to  his  house,  adding,  as  a  postscript,  that  she  would  find 
a  hundred  thousand  francs  under  her  napkin  at  supper.  *This 
last  argument  was  conclusive  ;  so  the  lady  sent  an  excuse  to 
the  Emperor,  pleading  a  sudden  indisposition,  and  was  borne 
rapidly  in  one  of  Ouvrard's  carriages  to  his  country  residence. 

*  The  following  day  the  great  capitalist  received  a  summons 
to  appear  forthwith  at  the  Tuileries,  and  was  ushered  into  the 
Emperor's  presence.  After  walking  once  or  twice  up  and  down 
the  room,  the  great  man  turned  sharply  round  on  his  unwilling 
guest,  and  with  his  eagle  glance  riveted  on  Ouvrard's  face,  sternly 
demanded,  "  Monsieur,  how  much  did  you  make  by  your  contract 
for  the  army  at  the  beginning  of  the  year  ?" 

'The  financier  knew  it  was  in -vain  to  equivocate,  and  replied, 

"  Four  millions  of  francs,  sire." 

"  Then,  sir,  you  made  too  much  ;  so  pay  immediately  two 
millions  into  the  Treasury.  Go  !"  ' 

Of  course,  the  clandestine  visit  of  Mdlle.  George  to  Ouvrard 
was  communicated  to  the  Tuileries  by  the  Minister  of  Police, 
and  the  Emperor,  indignant  at  the  presumption  of  the  French 
Midas,  resolved  to  punish  him  by  a  fine  of  two  millions. 

It  was  computed  that  there  were  in  1834  some  two  hundred 
places  of  public  amusement  in  Paris,  and  that  at  least  twenty 
thousand  people  attended  the  theatres  nightly. 

Before  dismissing  the  subject  of  the  gaieties  which  attracted 
me  on  every  side,  I  must  not  overlook  a  form  of  entertainment 
then  immensely  popular. 


Paris.  1 1 7 

I  refer  to  the  masked  balls  which,  during  the  Carnival  sea 
son,  took  place  at  most  of  the  theatres  every  Saturday  at  mid 
night.  At  the  Grand  Opera-house  a  reunion  rather  than  a  ball — 
for  there  was  no  dancing — was  given,  which  was  fully  attended 
by  the  fashionable  world.  The  ladies  were  all  in  black  dominoes, 
and  wore  masks.  Gentlemen  were  not  allowed  to  assume  any 
disguise.  The  amusement  consisted  in  the  ladies  accosting  the 
men  they  either  knew,  or  whose  histories  or  secrets  they  were 
acquainted  with,  and  badgering  them  to  their  hearts'  content. 
The  victims  of  this  playful  inquisition,  which  often  touched  on 
the  most  sensitive  points,  struggled  hard,  of  course,  to  discover 
their  fair  tormentors  ;  but  as  their  faces  and  persons  were  con 
cealed,  and  their  voices  dissembled,  it  was  generally  found  a 
hopeless  task. 

The  price  of  admission  to  the  Opera  on  these  occasions  was 
so  high  as  to  make  the  company  very  select,  and  the  best 
peopfe  of  both  sexes  constantly  attended.  The  renowned 
Deputy  Berry er  was  always  there.  He  was  a  great  favourite 
of  the  women,  and  was  never  without  some  mysterious 
nymph  on  his  arm,  and  his  fine  face  often  indicated  that  he 
was  floundering  helplessly  in  her  artful  meshes.  It  was  said 
that  ladies  with  exacting  husbands,  or  jealous  lovers,  not  unfre- 
quently  came  to  these  masked  festivities  to  meet  some  forbidden 
favourite,  and  indulge  in  a  quiet  supper  in  a  neighbouring 
restaurant. 

Though  attracted  occasionally  to  these  masquerades  of  the 
haut  ton,  I  found  the  masked  balls  at  the  theatres  infinitely 
more  novel  and  diverting.  These  were  attended  by  a  very 
mixed  company,  and  both  men  and  women  were  arrayed  in 
costumes  of  the  most  fantastic  description.  The  women  gener 
ally  wore  masks,  which  was  forbidden  to  the  men.  It  was  not 
until  I  had  attended  one  of  these  favourite  Parisian  romps  that 
I  could  form  any  accurate  estimate  of  the  boundless  gaiety  of  the 
French  character.  At  first  I  was  disposed  to  criticise  sharply 
the  extreme  levity,  not  to  say  the  utter  buffoonery,  of  these 
mad  revels  ;  but  by  degrees  I  began  to  admire  the  universal 
good-humour,  the  jocular  wit,  and  the  intense  love  of  fun  that 
were  equally  conspicuous  features.  Nor  should  I  ignore  that 
general  politeness  which  the  French  never  forget,  whether  gay 
or  grave. 

The  dancing  of  itself  was  a  sight,  and  truly  indescribable. 


1 1 8  Paris. 

Many  of  the  men  and  not  a  few  of  the  women  had  evidently 
made  it  a  study,  and  their  performance  was  often  rewarded 
with  a  burst  of  applause  by  admiring  spectators.  It  was  not 
always  decorous,  but  never  absolutely  indecent,  and  if  any  over 
excited  son  of  Momus  trespassed  beyond  the  line  sanctioned  by 
usage,  there  was  a  chorus  of  protests  as  emphatic  as  the  applause. 
Besides,  the  police  were  always  present,  and  a  simple  nod  or  a 
word  from  one  of  those  custos  morum  was  sufficient  to  check  the 
undue  exuberance  of  the  most  rampant.  It  was  strictly  for 
bidden  that  female  costume  should  be  worn  by  men,  and  was 
punished  when  detected.  It  was,  however,  occasionally  assumed 
by  some  daring  adept  who  was  confident  of  his  skill  in  imitating 
feminine  airs  and  graces. 

I  remember  an  incident  that  appeared  in  the  papers  that 
winter,  proving  that  even  the  most  adroit  were  sometimes  out 
witted.  The  following  narrative  relates  the  case  alluded  to : 

*  A  young  man,  who  ventured  to  Musard's  last  masked  ball  in 
the  disguise  of  a  female,  was  accosted  in  the  course  of  the  evening 
almost  simultaneously  by  two  cavaliers,  one  in  the  costume  of  the 
renowned  Robert  Macaire,  and  the  other  in  that  of  a  clown.  The 
gallants,  strange  to  say,  manifested  not  the  slightest  jealousy  of 
each  other,  and  the  pretended  lady  fair,  finding  it  pleasant  to 
mystify  both,  accepted  their  invitation,  towards  five  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  to  a  supper  at  the  Trois  Freres  Provengaux.     She 
kept  on  her  mask  during  the  whole  time  of  supper — a  proceeding 
to  which,  however  unusual,  her  male  companions  made  not  the 
slightest  objection.      After  the  repast  was  over,  the   bill   was 
called  for,  and  paid  by  the  two  cavaliers ;  and  at  this  moment 
the  pretended  belle  dropped  the  mask  literally  and  figuratively, 
and,  addressing  her  admirers,  said, 

"  You  are  egregious  ninnies,  for  I  am  not  a  woman." 
"  You  are  another,"  retorted  the  immortal  Robert  Macaire, 
"  for  I  have  the  honour  to  be  a  sheriff's  officer,  and  have  accom 
panied  you  hither,  along  with  my  colleague,  to  arrest  you  for 
debt  at  the  suit  of  A.  G." 

*  Having  thus   revealed  himself,  Robert  and  his  coadjutor 
handed  the  stupefied  ex-lady  into  a  coach  which  was  waiting  at 
the  door,  and  the  trio  were  immediately  driven  to  the  well- 
known  prison  for  the  accommodation  of  debtors  in  the  Rue  de 
Clichy.' 

The  masked  balls  come  to  an  end  on  Mardi  Grast  when 


Paris.  119 

Lent  begins  ;  but  the  number  of  balls  given  on  the  last  two 
nights  of  the  Carnival  in  those  jovial  days,  when  Vive  la  baga 
telle!  was  the  familiar  password,  were  almost  incredible.  A  para 
graph  from  one  of  the  papers,  which  I  copy,  is  pretty  conclusive 
proof  that,  in  the  first  years  of  Louis  Philippe's  reign,  the  male 
portion  of  the  population  of  Paris  thought  of  little  else  than 
'  quips  and  cranks  and  wanton  wilesx'  and  abandoned  themselves 
to  the  gambols  of  the  season  with  a  laissez  aller  scarcely  ever 
seen  since.  'The  Municipal  Guards  and  Corps  of  Firemen,' 
says  the  Journal  des  DJbats, '  are  worn  out  with  fatigue,  having 
been  obliged,  as  is  usual  at  this  season,  besides  performing  their 
ordinary  service  at  the  public  establishments,  theatres,  &c.,  to  be 
on  duty  at  the  public  balls  in  different  quarters  of  the  capital, 
and  which  on  Monday  and  Tuesday  night  are  calculated  to  have 
amounted  to  between  three  and  four  hundred  in  Paris,  as  well 
as  at  the  barriers.  Last  year,  the  tax  in  favour  of  the  hospitals, 
of  one-tenth  on  the  receipts  of  the  balls  at  the  various  theatres 
and  at  the  barriers,  exceeded  the  sum  of  750,000  francs,  and 
this  year  it  is  estimated  the  result  will  be  considerably  greater.' 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

PARIS  (continued). 

BALL  AT  THE  TUILERIES — TALLEYRAND— MARSHALS  SOULT  AND  LOBATJ— 
MRS.  WADSWORTH — SIR  SYDNEY  SMITH — THIERS— GUIZOT,  ETC. 

IT  was  in  January  1835  that  the  first  ball  of  the  season  was 
given  at  the  Tuileries.  The  male  guests  were  required  to 
appear  in  uniform  or  Court  costume,  and  I  took  care  this 
time  to  have  the  collar  of  my  embroidered  coat  curtailed  of 
its  undue  proportions,  so  that  my  attention  might  not  be 
for  a  moment  distracted  by  any  discomfort  from  the  bril 
liant  scene  I  was  eager  to  witness.  My  expectation  was 
greatly  excited  by  all  I  had  read  and  heard  of  these  palatial 
festivities.  It  was  nearly  ten  o'clock  when  I  drove  through 
the  palace-gates,  and  descended  at  the  main  entrance.  Hand 
ing  my  card  of  invitation  to  one  of  the  many  officials  in 
attendance,  I  mounted  the  marble  staircase,  dotted  with  sentries 
in  gala  dress,  who  stood  on  each  landing  like  so  many  statues. 
On  entering  the  first  gallery,  lighted  by  a  triple  row  of  chande 
liers,  I  found  it  already  exceedingly  crowded,  though  of  immense 
length.  This  arose,  I  was  informed,  from  the  doors  at  the  other 
end,  leading  into  the  Salle  des  Marechaux,  not  being  opened  till 
the  royal  family  had  entered  and  taken  their  seats.  This 
occurred  precisely  at  ten,  when  free  access  was  given  to  all  parts 
of  the  palace,  save  the  private  apartments. 

I  strolled  leisurely  through  the  various  magnificent  salons  and 
corridors,  whose  gorgeous  draperies  and  gilded  furniture  glittered 
in  the  resplendent  light  of  countless  chandeliers  and  candelabra. 
I  stopped  a  moment  in  the  throne-room,  to  recall  the  scene  of 
which  it  had  been  the  theatre  on  the  last  day  of  the  Revolution 
of  1830,  when  it  was  invaded  by  the  fierce  multitude,  who 
carried  off  the  throne  amid  discordant  yells,  and  marched  with 
"their  trophy  to  the  Place  de  la  Bastille,  where  it  was  burnt  amid 
shouts  of  triumph.  What  a  contrast  to  the  company  that  filled 
it  to-night ! — lovely  women  and  illustrious  men,  who  were  pacing 


Paris.  121 

gaily  up  and  down,  all  unmindful  of  these  still  recent  acts  of 
popular  fury. 

When  I  returned  to  t^e  Salle  des  Marechaux  the  dancing  had 
begun.  The  King  and  Queen  were  seated  on  a  dai's  covered 
with  scarlet  velvet.  His  Majesty,  wearing  as  usual  the  uniform 
of  the  National  Guard,  seemed  enlivened  by  the  animated  scene, 
and  was  chatting  vivaciously  with  the  foreign  ambassadors  who 
approached  him  in  turn.  Just  in  front  of  their  Majesties  the 
royal  quadrille  was  going  on.  The  admired  Duke  of  Orleans, 
heir  to  the  throne,  and  his  sisters,  the  Princesses  Marie  and 
Clementine,  were  taking  part  in  it.  What  a  handsome  young 
man  was  the  Duke,  and  how  engaging  his  manners  !  And  the 
Princess  Clementine,  flushed  with  the  dance,  and  her  luxurious 
flaxen  hair  so  gracefully  arranged,  would  have  been  considered 
lovely  had  she  been  a  simple  village  maiden.  Her  sister,  the 
Princess  Marie,  was  hardly  less  attractive,  though  her  countenance 
was  more  serious,  and  her  manner  more  subdued.  When  the 
quadrille  broke  up,  I  turned  to  contemplate  more  closely  the 
dazzling  throng  about  me. 

What  a  splendid  scene  it  was,  far  transcending  my  wildest 
dreams !  The  women,  though  not  surpassing  in  beauty,  were  so 
exquisitely  dressed,  with  all  that  taste  and  elegance  which  have 
made  French  toilettes  the  marvel  and  the  model  of  the  world. 
Their  manners,  too,  so  easy  and  natural,  so  sprightly  and  grace 
ful,  and  their  conversation  so  bright  and  intelligent,  yet  always 
aimable.  Really,  Frenchwomen,  if  not  the  handsomest,  possess 
fascinations  that  none  other  in  Europe  approach.  The  men 
on  this  occasion  rivalled  the  women  in  the  splendour  of  their 
appearance.  All  were  arrayed  in  costumes  of  bewildering  variety 
and  richness.  Military  men  of  every  arm  abounded,  and  their 
uniforms  were  endlessly  diversified  and  glittering.  The  official 
world  was  gathered  in  great  force.  Members  of  1'Acade'mie 
Frangaise,  the  '  immortal  Forty/  whom  the  grim  Richelieu  called 
into  existence  two  hundred  years  ago  to  protect  literature  and 
the  French  language.  Members  of  the  Chambers  of  Peers  and 
Deputies,  comprising  the  prominent  men  of  the  nation  and 
functionaries  of  every  grade.  Last,  not  least,  the  Diplomatic 
Corps,  who  were  ablaze  with  embroidery,  ribbons,  and  decora 
tions.  There  were  some  two  thousand  guests  present ;  and  all 
that  was  fair  and  renowned  in  France's  capital,  with  many  illus 
trious  persons  of  foreign  climes,  were  assembled  to  do  homage 


122  Paris. 

to  the  head  of  the  House  of  Orleans,  the  'monarch  of  the  middle 
class/  as  he  was  styled  at  that  day. 

I  wandered  about  like  one  bewitched,  gazing  to  the  right  and 
to  the  left ;  for  so  novel  and  exciting  was  the  pageant,  so  unlike 
what  I  had  ever  seen  or  even  imagined,  that  I  almost  fancied  I 
had  been  translated  to  some  other  sphere,  where  men  were  all 
demi-gods,  and  women  hardly  less  than  angels.  As  I  was 
passing  through  the  Salle  des  Marechaux  about  midnight  my 
glance  fell  on  the  King,  as  he  was  standing  somewhat  apart  talk 
ing  with  an  old  man,  whose  white  hair  was  even  eclipsed  by  the 
ghastly  pallor  of  his  face.  He  stood  in  an  attitude  of  deference 
before  his  sovereign,  and  leant  upon  a  cane  which  seemed  needful 
to  his  support.  There  was  something  in  his  countenance,  person, 
and  manner — a  repose  and  dignity — that  indicated  he  was  no 
ordinary  courtier,  whilst  the  King's  bearing  to  him  was  kind  and 
courteous  to  a  degree.  My  curiosity  was  greatly  excited,  and 
fortunately,  just  at  that  moment,  our  Minister,  Mr.  Livingston, 
passed  by.  Accosting  him,  I  asked, 

'  Pray  who  is  that  imposing  old  man  talking  with  the  King  ?* 

'  That  is,'  said  the  Minister,  turning  round, — '  that  is  Prince 
Talleyrand.' 

'  Talleyrand !'  I  exclaimed,  not  a  little  moved. 

'  Even  so,'  returned  Mr.  Livingston,  as  he  walked  away. 

With  my  eyes  riveted  on  this  extraordinary  man,  my  mind 
ran  back  to  the  singular  vicissitudes  of  his  career.  The  eldest 
son  of  a  noble  family,  dating  from  the  tenth  century,  he  was 
born  lame,  and  for  that  reason  destined  for  the  Church.  At 
twenty-five  he  became  Bishop  of  Autun.  Ten  years  later  the 
Revolution  of  1789  broke  out,  when  he  promptly  adopted  its 
principles,  and  was  excommunicated  by  the  Pope.  Terrified 
at  the  carnage  of  the  Revolution,  he  sought  refuge  in  the 
United  States.  In  1796  he  returned  to  Paris,  and,  with  the 
aid  of  Madame  de  Stae'l,  became  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs 
under  the  Government  of  the  Directory.  He  formed  an  in 
timacy  with  Bonaparte  on  his  return  from  Egypt,  and  assisted 
him  in  the  coup  d'etat  of  1799.  When  Napoleon  became 
Emperor  he  was  made  Grand  Chamberlain  ;  and  in  1806 
received  the  principality  of  Benevento.  He  strongly  urged  the 
Emperor  to  cultivate  the  English  alliance,  and  as  strongly 
opposed  the  invasion  of  Spain.  Both  these  propositions  were 
rejected,  and  Talleyrand  retired  from  office.  On  the  fall  of  Na- 


Paris.  123 

poleon  he  became  the  Minister  of  Louis  XVIII.  He  stood  aloof 
from  Charles  X. ;  but  on  the  advent  of  Louis  Philippe,  whose 
elevation  to  the  throne  he  had  promoted,  he  was  named  ambas 
sador  to  England,  and  laid  the  foundation  of  that  alliance  which 
had  been  the  dominant  idea  of  his  life. 

On  the  plea  of  his  advanced  age,  just  eighty,  and  his  growing 
infirmities,  he  had  recently  begged  to  tender  his  resignation, 
which  was  reluctantly  accepted.  There  he  stood,  the  greatest 
diplomatist  of  his  age  ;  the  Minister  in  succession  of  Louis  XVI., 
the  Directory,  Napoleon,  Louis  XVIII. ,  and  Louis  Philippe  ;  the 
man  whose  wisdom  and  subtle  intellect  had  contributed  to  shape 
the  great  events  of  near  half  a  century  ;  nearly  the  last  surviving 
link  that  connected  the  eruption  of  1789  with  that  of  1830.  Who 
would  think,  whilst  gazing  on  that  pallid  marble-like  visage,  that 
it  was  only  a  mask,  which  concealed  not  merely  the  keenest 
sagacity  but  the  most  unrivalled  wit?  Who  has  not  heard 
of  the  numberless  bons  mots  of  Talleyrand  ?  The  one  that 
occurred  to  me  the  oftenest,  as  I  regarded  him,  was  his  famous 
dictum  that  *  La  parole  a  ett  donnte  a  Vkomme  pour  V aider  a 
cacher  sa  penstt — language  was  given  to  man  to  conceal  his 
thoughts. 

At  last,  shaking  hands  with  the  King,  he  turned  to  retire,  and 
the  crowd  respectfully  fell  back  to  give  him  a  passage.  I  never 
saw  him  again.  Three  years  later,  he  died. 

With  occasional  intervals  of  rest,  I  continued  perambulating 
from  room  to  room,  every  instant  encountering  some  new  object 
of  interest  Remarking,  as  I  passed  along,  that  quite  a  group 
was  collected  near  two  distinguished-looking  military  men  who 
were  chatting  together,  I  stopped  also  to  observe  them.  They 
were  evidently  men  of  mark,  which  their  rich  uniforms  and 
numerous  decorations  indicated.  Their  martial  air,  and  the 
stern  determination  imprinted  on  the  faces  of  both,  that  were 
bronzed  by  long  exposure,  were  really  striking.  Their  tone  was 
full  of  decision,  and  their  abrupt  emphatic  gestures  showed  they 
were  accustomed  to  authority.  Who  could  they  be  ?  Curious  to 
ascertain,  I  inquired  of  one  near  me. 

'That  one,'  said  he, indicating  with  his  head,  'is  Marshal  Soult' 

'  And  the  other  ?'  I  asked. 

'  That  is  Marshal  Lobau.' 

It  was  rare  luck  indeed  to  encounter  two  of  Napoleon's  most 
famous  marshals  in  familiar  converse.  As  I  turned  my  glance 


124  Paris. 

from  one  to  the  other,  I  thought  of  the  marvellous  exploits  of 
both. 

Soult,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  entered  the  ranks,  and,  passing 
by  the  lower  grades,  was  made  a  captain  in  1793,  for  a  signal  act 
of  daring.  In  1794  his  desperate  valour  raised  him  to  the  rank 
of  brigadier-general.  In  1 799  he  was  created  general  of  division, 
for  repulsing  30,000  Austrians  with  5000  men.  His  reputation 
rose  still  higher  at  the  siege  of  Genoa,  where  his  leg  was  broken 
by  a  bomb,  and  he  was  taken  prisoner.  In  1804  he  was  one  of 
the  first  made  a  Marshal  of  France  by  Napoleon  ;  and  at  the 
battle  of  Austerlitz,  1805,  his  manoeuvres  decided  the  victory. 
Napoleon  then  pronounced  him  the  first  tactician  of  Europe. 
For  his  share  in  all  the  great  victories  of  Germany  he  was  created 
Duke  of  Dalmatia.  In  1808  the  Emperor  sent  him  to  take  pos 
session  of  Spain,  which  he  accomplished  after  numerous  sangui 
nary  battles.  In  1813,  on  the  retreat  of  Napoleon  from  Russia,, 
he  won  the  battle  of  Bautzen  in  Germany,  and  was  then  sent  to 
contest  the  advance  of  Wellington  from  Spain.  With  inferior 
forces  he  disputed  every  foot  of  ground  ;  and  at  Toulouse,  in 
1814,  he  gained  a  momentary  advantage,  with  his  22,000  men 
against  80,000  of  the  enemy.  The  same  year  he  was  made 
Minister  of  War,  under  Louis  XVI II.,  but  abandoned  him  on 
the  return  of  Napoleon,  and  accompanied  his  old  commander  to 
Waterloo.  For  this  he  was  exiled  for  a  time.  In  1830  he  gave 
his  hearty  cooperation  to  Louis  Philippe,  and  the  same  year 
resumed  his  former  functions  of  War  Minister. 

It  was  difficult  to  believe  that  the  man  before  me,  so  erect 
and  full  of  vigour,  in  spite  of  his  sixty-six  years,  could  have  gone 
through  such  an  incredible  amount  of  service,  fatigue,  and 
danger,  even  from  his  earliest  youth.  This  great  soldier  chatted 
on  with  his  brother  in  arms,  as  though  unconscious  of  the  battery 
of  glowing  eyes  directed  at  him  from  every  side.  He  had  been 
long  accustomed  to  far  more  formidable  artillery. 

His  comrade,  Marshal  Lobau,  with  his  commanding  figure 
and  well-knit  frame,  was  hardly  less  illustrious.  Entering  the 
ranks  in  1792,  he  fought  his  way  through  all  the  great  battles  of 
Italy,  Germany,  Spain,  and  Russia.  In  1809  he  saved  by  his 
heroism  a  portion  of  the  French  army  shut  up  in  the  island  of 
Lobau,  and  for  this  was  created  Count  of  Lobau.  In  1813  he 
was  made  a  prisoner  at  Dresden.  He  accompanied  Napoleon  as 
aide-de-camp  to  Waterloo.  In  1830  he  took  an  active  part  in 


Paris.  125 

the  Revolution,  and  was  made  a  Marshal  of  France  by  Louis 
Philippe.  He  was  frequently  employed  in  putting  down  the 
insurrections  that  broke  out  in  Paris,  and  on  one  of  these  occa 
sions  found  the  Place  Vendome  rilled  with  armed  insurgents. 
It  was  necessary  to  disperse  them,  but  he  shrank  from  opening 
fire  on  the  harebrained  desperadoes.  Suddenly  a  happy  device 
occurred  to  him,  and  he  sent  for  a  number  of  fire-engines  ;  and 
just  when  the  rioters  were  expecting  a  murderous  discharge  of 
cannon  they  were  deluged  by  well-directed  streams  of  water, 
which  so  astounded  them  that  they  took  to  their  heels,  amid  the 
hearty  laughter  of  the  Marshal  and  his  troops.  He  was  prouder 
of  this  bloodless  victory,  it  is  said,  than  many  he  had  gained 
against  greater  odds. 

Whilst  contemplating  him  another  anecdote  occurred  to  me. 
He  was  a  great  favourite  of  Napoleon,  and  one  day,  when  visiting 
him  at  the  Tuileries,  the  Emperor  observed  a  hackney-coach  in 
the  courtyard  of  the  palace,  and,  finding  it  belonged  to  General 
Mouton  (his  name  at  that  time),  he  exclaimed,  with  a  frown, 

'What's  this?  One  of  my  most  distinguished  generals 
driving  about  in  a  fiacre  T 

'  Sire,  I  am  not  a  rich  man,'  replied  the  general,  *  and  try  to 
live  within  my  means.' 

The  truth  was,  the  general  could  have  afforded  a  better  con 
veyance,  but  he  was  noted  for  his  strict  economy.  A  few  days 
later,  he  received  a  present  from  the  Emperor  of  300,000  francs. 
Not  long  after,  he  was  again  at  the  Tuileries,  and  the  Emperor 
at  once  looked  out  to  inspect  the  new  equipage  of  the  general. 
To  his  astonishment  he  discovered  the  same  vehicle  as  before. 

'What  does  this  mean  ?'  said  his  Majesty  indignantly.  '  Did 
you  not  receive  the  money  I  sent  you  ?' 

'  I  did,  sire,'  was  the  answer  ;  '  and  I  am  truly  grateful  for 
the  gift  ;  but  if  your  Majesty  exacts  that  I  shall  spend  it  at  once, 
I  would  prefer  to  return  it.' 

The  two  Marshals,  after  an  animated  conversation  of  half  an 
hour  or  more,  parted,  shaking  hands  right  cordially. 

I  then  sauntered  back  to  the  Salle  des  Marechaux,  always 
the  focus  of  attraction,  as  the  royal  family  remained  there,  and 
I  found  the  graceful  Duke  of  Orleans  chatting  quite  earnestly 
with  by  far  the  most  lovely  woman  at  the  ball.  Her  perfect 
beauty,  both  of  face  and  figure,  was  something  marvellous.  Her 
features  were  classical,  her  eyes  large  and  expressive,  her  shoul- 


1 2  6  Paris. 

ders  and  bust  exquisitely  moulded,  and  her  demeanour  full  of 
dignity  and  grace.  She  was  the  object  of  general  admiration, 
and  all  eyes  followed  her  wherever  she  moved.  I  was  proud  to 
know  she  was  an  American,  and  even  a  townswoman  of  my 
own.  Her  maiden  name  was  Mary  Wharton,  and  she  was  a 
scion  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  Philadelphia.  She  had 
but  recently  married  James  Wadsworth  of  Geneseo,  New  York, 
and  was  now  on  her  bridal  trip  to  Europe.  He  was  a  law- 
student  at  Yale  University  when  I  was  an  undergraduate,  and 
was  more  than  once  our  trusted  leader  in  the  rights  of '  town  and 
gown'  that  used  occasionally  to  occur.  He  was  a  most  estimable 
man,  and  greatly  beloved  by  his  numerous  friends. 

It  was  considerably  past  midnight  when  the  royal  family 
rose  to  go  to  supper.  A  posse  of  chamberlains  cleared  the  way, 
and  the  King  and  Queen,  followed  by  the  Princes  and  Princesses, 
passed  along  between  two  lines  of  their  loyal  guests,  bowing  and 
smiling  as  they  went.  The  supper  was  served  in  the  theatre 
of  the  palace,  a  lofty  spacious  hall,  at  the  upper  end  of 
which  a  table  was  laid  for  the  royal  family,  the  Diplomatic 
Corps,  and  some  distinguished  convives.  After  they  were  seated 
the  general  company  was  admitted.  The  repast  was  truly  regal, 
and  a  constant  supply  of  the  rarest  viands  and  most  recherche 
wines  was  kept  up  to  the  very  end  of  the  ball.  After  supper 
dancing  was  resumed. 

On  my  way  back  I  recognised  M.  Thiers,  who  was  in  dis 
course  with  a  tall  stately  man  in  a  dark  uniform,  with  a  broad 
blue  ribbon  across  his  breast,  that  was  covered  with  numerous 
orders.  The  contrast  between  the  two  men  was  very  striking, 
Thiers  was  scarce  half  the  height  of  his  companion,  and  was  as 
restless  as  the  other  was  composed.  He  talked  incessantly 
with  great  animation,  whilst  his  vis-a-vis  responded  with  a  grave 
nod  or  an  occasional  remark.  I  discovered  that  the  latter 
personage  was  no  other  than  the  Russian  Ambassador,  Count 
Pozzo  di  Borgo.  He  was  a  fellow-countryman  of  Napoleon,  and 
a  truly  Corsican  hatred  existed  between  the  two.  When  Pozzo 
di  Borgo  entered  the  diplomatic  service  of  Russia,  he  used  his 
utmost  efforts  to  counteract  the  schemes  of  the  ambitious  soldier. 
He  was  the  chief  adviser  of  the  Allied  Powers,  and  wielded 
great  influence.  At  the  Treaty  of  Tilsit,  1807,  when  Russia  and 
France  entered  into  a  compact  to  divide  Europe  between  them, 
Napoleon  exacted  that  Pozzo  di  Borgo  should  be  dismissed 


Paris.  127 

from  the  Russian  service,  which  was  done.  After  the  defeat  of 
Napoleon  at  Waterloo,  Pozzo  di  Borgo  struggled  hard  to  induce 
the  Allies  to  put  the  vanquished  Emperor  to  death.  It  was  easy 
to  discern  in  his  hard  austere  face  that  he  was  not  a  man  likely 
to  spare  an  antagonist  once  in  his  power.  But  my  eyes  were 
soon  diverted  from  the  ambassador  to  the  little  man  in  specs 
rattling  on  at  his  side  like  a  spinning-jenny.  Everybody  re 
garded  M.  Thiers  as  scarcely  less  than  a  prodigy.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  workman  in  the  docks  at  Marseilles.  He  entered  the 
college  of  that  town  as  a  charity  scholar,  and  then  studied 
law.  He  found  his  way  to  Paris  in  1826,  and  lived  in  a  miserable 
garret  quite  penniless.  In  a  few  months  he  obtained  employ 
ment  on  a  newspaper,  and  soon  displayed  extraordinary  talent. 
His  facility  in  writing  on  all  subjects — politics,  literature,  art, 
the  drama — the  novelty  and  boldness  of  his  views,  and  the  lucidity 
of  his  style,  soon  attracted  general  attention,  and  Talleyrand 
became  one  of  his  patrons. 

Wherever  he  went  his  singular  appearance  and  manners 
piqued  curiosity.  His  short  stature — four  feet  and  a  half 
— the  vivacious  countenance  half  hidden  by  a  huge  pair  of 
spectacles,  his  shrill  voice,  his  fidgety  odd  behaviour — all 
made  him  an  object  of  interest.  His  brilliant  conversation 
astonished  every  one,  and  all  topics  seemed  equally  familiar. 
In  1823  he  began  his  History  of  the  French  Revolution,  which  he 
finished  in  1827,  in  ten  volumes.  The  profound  knowledge  dis 
played,  the  rapid  and  dramatic  march  of  the  narrative,  and  the 
wonderful  perspicacity  of  the  style  gave  the  book  an  immense 
success,  which  sold  to  the  extent  of  200,000  copies.  In  six  short 
years  the  charity-boy  had  exchanged  his  garret  for  a  luxurious 
mansion,  and  had  become  a  very  prominent  personage. 

In  January  1830  he  founded  a  new  journal,  Le  National,  and 
began  attacking  the  Government  of  Charles  X.  with  impetuosity. 
The  Government  ordered  a  prosecution,  but  he  set  it  at  defiance. 
The  night  before  the  Revolution,  July  26,  the  police  suppressed 
Le  National,*  and  endeavoured  to  arrest  Thiers  ;  but  he  escaped. 
On  the  29th,  when  the  dynasty  had  fallen,  he  reappeared,  and 
wrote  the  proclamation  urging  the  Duke  of  Orleans  as  the  suc 
cessor  of  Charles  X.  He  was  one  of  the  chief  founders  of  the 
new  monarchy.  The  King  was  afraid  of  his  ardent  character, 
but  was  obliged  to  raise  him  to  the  Ministry  in  October  1832, 
and  since  then  he  had  absorbed  public  attention.  A  jealous 


1 2  8  Paris. 

rivalry  existed  between  him  and  Guizot,  and  already  the  King 
had  begun  to  exclaim  : 

'  How  happy  could  I  be  with  either, 
Were  t'other  dear  charmer  away  ? 

All  the  time  this  retrospect  was  filtering  through  my  mind, 
Thiers  continued  talking  at  Pozzo  di  Borgo.  It  could  not  be 
called  a  conversation,  for  the  little  one  never  stopped  for  a  reply. 
Suddenly  he  turned  on  his  heel,  and  disappeared  in  the  crowd. 

Shortly  after,  in  strolling  about,  I  met  Sir  Sydney  Smith, 
who  achieved  distinction  when  commanding  the  English,  fleet  in 
the  Mediterranean  in  1799,  by  protecting  the  port  of  Acre  in 
Syria  against  the  assaults  of  General  Bonaparte,  who  laid  siege 
to  it  for  sixty  days.  The  old  Admiral  was  a  short  stout  man,, 
with  a  pleasant  physiognomy  and  genial  manner.  He  was  fond 
of  gossip,  and  gave  his  opinions  of  men  and  things  with  a  bluff 
frankness  thoroughly  characteristic  of  his  profession.  He  lived 
most  of  his  time  in  France,  and  was  a  shrewd  observer  of  passing 
events.  I  was  curious  to  have  his  views  of  the  situation,  that  could 
hardly  fail  to  be  instructive,  and  I  had  little  difficulty  in  eliciting 
them.  I  was  a  good  deal  amused  at  his  nautical  phraseology. 

*  Yes,  you  may  depend  on  it,'  said  the  Admiral,  '  the  King, 
with  all  his  sagacity  and  experience,  will  have  great  trouble 
before  he  brings  his  ship  into  smooth  water.  He  will  run  con 
stant  risk  from  treacherous  currents  and  sudden  gales,  and  it  will 
be  rare  good  fortune  if  he  finally  escapes  a  wreck.  He  was  lucky 
in  getting  rid  of  the  insurrection  in  La  Vendee  by  the  mishap 
that  befell  the  poor  Duchesse  de  Berri,  and  he  has  shown  energy 
in  putting  down  the  mob  of  Paris,  who  are  constantly  inflamed 
by  conspirators  wanting  a  share  of  the  loaves  and  fishes.  Yet 
he  has  worse  dangers  than  these  to  contend  with.' 

1  You  allude,  Admiral,'  I  said, '  most  probably  to  the  intrigues 
of  the  politicians/ 

'  Exactly.  The  bitter  rivalries  of  these  competitors  for  power 
will  make  it  very  difficult  for  his  Majesty  to  steer  straight.  It 
is  well  he  got  rid  of  Lafitte,  who,  with  all  sails  set,  would  have 
surely  brought  up  on  a  lee-shore.  It  is  a  pity  he  lost  Casimir 
Perier,  who  understood  the  true  interests  of  the  country,  and  would 
have  been  a  most  useful  pilot.  As  for  Thiers,  he  has  ability 
enough  for  anything ;  but  he  is  too  fond  of  rough  water  to  make 
a  safe  hand  at  the  helm.  Either  to  show  his  skill,  or  because  he 
really  loves  a  tempest,  he  will  always  be  running  the  country 


Paris.  129 

into  jeopardy,  and  frightening  trade  and  commerce  out  of  their 
wits.  Depend  on  it,  no  Government  will  ever  lead  a  quiet  life 
with  Thiers  at  the  head  of  affairs/ 

'You  really  surprise  me,  Sir  Sydney/  remarked  I ;  (for  I  thought 
Thiers,  of  all  the  men  of  the  day,  the  ablest  and  most  adroit,  the 
most  competent  to  cope  with  all  possible  emergencies.' 

*  Yes,  able  enough  and  adroit  enough,  but  still  not  the  best 
man  for  the  epoch.  You  see,  France  wants  to  go  into  port  for 
refitting.  She  has  been  tumbled  about  for  so  many  years  on  the 
furious  waves  of  civil  and  foreign  wars,  that  she  is  shaken  from 
stem  to  stern.  She  wants  a  thorough  overhauling  before  ventur 
ing  out  to  sea  again.  Now  Thiers  is  not  the  man  to  superin 
tend  repairs.  The  King  knows  perfectly  what  is  needed.  If  he 
is  allowed  to  have  his  own  way,  he  will  manage  safely  the  vessel 
intrusted  to  his  care,  and  France  will  come  out  all  right  But, 

o 

poor  man,  he  has  a  most  unruly  crew  to  deal  with,  and  I  don't 
see  how  he  is  to  maintain  discipline  among  them.  I  shouldn't 
be  astonished  if  some  day  he  threw  up  his  command  in  despair, 
if  he  don't  go  to  Davy  Jones's  locker  before  then/ 

'  I  must  confess,'  I  averred,  '  that  much  of  what  you  say  is 
new  and  startling  to  me.  I  share  your  great  confidence  in  the 
good  sense  of  the  King.  He  saw  the  folly  of  Charles  X.  in 
seeking  to  restore  absolute  government  after  the  incredible  efforts 
of  the  French  to  get  rid  of  it.  He  understands  the  France  of 
to-day,  and  knows  she  needs  repose  and  the  development  of  her 
vast  resources.  He  has  entered  into  alliance  with  England,  and 
is  trying  to  gain  the  good-will  of  all  the  European  Powers. 
He  will  augment  his  popularity  at  home  by  fostering  trade  and 
commerce,  befriending  the  arts,  and  encouraging  literature.  He 
has  given  proofs  already  he  will  pursue  this  enlightened  course. 
Now  how  can  the  politicians  oppose  him  without  becoming  odious 
to  the  nation  ?' 

1 1  grant  you/  returned  the  ancient  mariner,  'that  in  your 
nation,  or  in  mine,  the  King  might  with  safety  snap  his  fingers  at 
them ;  but  here  the  case  is  different.  The  French,  with  a  thou 
sand  good  qualities,  are  fickle  and  thoughtless.  Worse  still,  they 
have  little  political  knowledge  or  experience.  It  is  only  a  few 
years  ago  they  were  serfs — for  under  the  old  monarchy  they  were 
no  better.  How  could  they,  intelligent  as  I  admit  they  are,  in 
so  brief  a  period  learn  the  arts  of  the  politicians,  and  see  through 
their  tricks  ?  All  the  papers  in  Paris  belong  to  the  politicians, 

K 


130  Paris. 

and  they  display  great  ingenuity  in  misrepresenting  the  acts 
and  words  of  each  other.  There  is  not  one  of  them  that  tells 
the  truth,  or  is  ever  impartial  or  just.  All  are  intent  on  the 
aggrandisement  of  their  own  coterie.  Now  the  people  who  read 
them,  not  understanding  their  game,  are  misled  and  easily  in 
flamed.  Is  it  a  wonder,  with  the  winds  blowing  from  every 
quarter,  they  get  bewildered  and  suspect  their  best  friends  ?  The 
King,  with  all  his  wisdom  and  good  intentions,  is  at  the  mercy 
of  the  politicians,  who,  besides  their  pens,  have  ready  tongues.  I 
don't  see  how  he  is  to  please  them  all.  If  he  gives  power  to 
Thiers  and  his  allies — and  I  repeat  Thiers  is  a  bad  look-out — then 
he  will  have  Guizot  and  his  followers  assailing  him.  Of  course 
he  must  expect  the  Legitimists  and  the  Republicans  and  their 
organs  to  be  all  the  time  barking  at  his  heels.  I  don't  envy  him 
his  voyage.  As  I  said  before,  I  don't  see  how,  with  such  a  crew 
to  navigate  with,  he  can  keep  clear  of  breakers.' 

'  A  very  sorry  prospect  indeed,  Admiral,'  I  replied,  *  as  you 
describe  it.  But  if  you  think  that  Thiers  will  expose  the  King 
to  the  jealousy  of  his  rivals,  and  perhaps  involve  him  in  trouble 
abroad,  what  do  you  say  to  Guizot  ?' 

'  Why,  there  goes  the  very  man  !'  interrupted  the  Admiral. 

I  looked  up,  and  had  a  glimpse  for  the  first  time  of  the 
famous  '  doctrinaire,'  as  Guizot  was  then  styled. 

*  Thanks,  Admiral,'  I  said,  '  for  pointing  him  out  to  me.  Don't 
you  think  he  would  be  a  useful  ally  for  the  King  ?  He  is,  from  all  I 
hear,  a  man  of  grave  character,  solid  learning,  and  much  eloquence/ 

'  Humph,'  exclaimed  the  sceptical  Sir  Sydney  ;  '  Guizot,  after 
all,  is  only  a  man  of  letters,  and  they  always  lack  practical 
acquaintance  with  men  and  affairs.  They  don't  know  how  to 
trim  their  sails  to  the  wind,  and  are  prone  to  insist  on  keeping 
the  course  they  think  the  best.  The  King,  I  hear,  is  very  partial 
to  Guizot  for  the  purity  of  his  morals  and  the  austerity  of  his 
habits.  Puritans  are  not  good  politicians.  They  turn  their 
backs  on  expedients,  and  set  compromise  at  defiance.  I  hope 
his  Majesty  will  not  give  himself  up  entirely  to  Guizot,  or  he 
will  run  the  risk  of  foundering.' 

So  saying  he  bade  me  good-night.  As  I  looked  after  him  I 
thought  of  his  act  of  civility  to  General  Bonaparte,  whom  he  was 
blockading  in  Egypt  in  1799.  He  sent  the  General  one  day  a 
packet  of  newspapers  from  Europe,  when  Bonaparte  discovered 
that  the  Directory  was  tottering  to  its  fall.  'It  is  time/  he 


Paris.  131 

exclaimed, '  I  should  return  to  France.  No  use  wasting  my  time 
here.'  He  turned  over  the  command  to  General  Kleber,  and  secretly 
embarked  for  France,  running  the  risk  of  being  picked  up  by  the 
numerous  English  cruisers  then  patrolling  the  Mediterranean. 
Bonaparte  was  lucky  enough  to  reach  Frejus  ;  pushed  on  to 
Paris ;  overturned  the  Directory,  and  became  First  Consul. 
Thus  the  politeness  of  the  English  Admiral  changed  the  desti 
nies  of  Europe.  Poor  Kleber  was  assassinated  not  long  after  by 
a  Turk,  who  mistook  him  for  Bonaparte.  So,  it  may  be  said,  the 
future  conqueror  owed  his  life  to  the  unwitting  courtesy  of  his 
arch-enemy,  Sir  Sydney  Smith. 

I  wandered  about,  hoping  to  obtain  another  glimpse  of  Guizot, 
one  of  the  first  men  of  his  day.  I  eventually  found  him  talking 
with  the  King,  with  whom  he  was,  no  doubt,  a  favourite.  I 
scrutinised  him  closely.  His  face  was  severe  in  expression,  and 
his  air  imperious,  acquired,  likely,  from  his  former  career  of  pro 
fessor  at  the  Sorbonne.  He  impressed  me  as  a  man  of  resolute 
character  and  great  firmness.  Hitherto  he  had  been  chiefly 
famous  for  his  learning  and  literary  skill.  As  a  historian  he  had 
acquired  great  renown.  .  But  his  reputation  as  an  orator  was 
rising  daily,  and  he  was  evidently  destined  to  figure  conspicuously 
in  the  future.  He  was  then  a  member  of  the  Cabinet,  and 
aspired  to  be  Prime  Minister  sooner  or  later. 

The  royal  family  retired  from  the  ball  just  before  two  in  the 
morning,  but  the  dancing  went  on  till  after  four  o'clock.  As  for 
myself,  I  was  so  fascinated  I  loitered  till  well-nigh  the  last.  The 
only  feature  that  I  missed  at  this  brilliant  festivity  was  the  pre 
sence  of  the  historic  names  of  France,  the  great  nobles,  \.\\egrandes 
dames  of  the  Faubourg  St.  Germain,  who  constituted  the  ornament 
of  the  Court  of  Charles  X.  They  were  so  indignant  at  what  they 
called  the  treachery  of  Louis  Philippe  in  usurping  the  throne  of 
his  cousin  that  they  refused  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him. 
They  not  only  avoided  all  contact  with  his  Court,  but  even  united 
with  the  Republicans  in  plotting  against  him. 

The  Queen  was  not  a  little  mortified  that  all  the  great  fami 
lies  of  the  country  faithfully  adhered  to  the  fortunes  of  the  elder 
branch  of  the  Bourbons ;  but  now  and  then  she  succeeded  in 
tempting  some  member  of  the  old  noblesse  to  come  to  the 
palace.  One  of  these,  who  honoured  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries  with 
her  haughty  presence,  turned  up  her  patrician  nose  at  the  mix 
ture  of  classes  that  she  found  there. 


a  3  2  Paris. 

'  One  might  fancy  oneself  in  heaven/  she  is  reported  to  have 
said, '  for  there  also  there  is  no  distinction  of  persons.' 

On  one  occasion  the  Queen  proposed  to  organise  a  somewhat 
more  exclusive  description  of  entertainment,  where  only  those  of 
noble  birth  and  high  social  rank  should  be  admitted,  and  where 
the  nouveau  ricJie^  as  well  as  those  of  plebeian  extraction,  should 
be  excluded.  The  King,  however,  set  his  face  resolutely  against 
the  suggestion. 

'  I  am  too  much  a  man  of  my  epoch,'  he  said,  '  not  to  receive 
all  who  have  made  for  themselves  an  honoured  name.  They,  and 
their  wives  who  bear  it,  are  always  welcome  guests  at  the  palace.' 

This  blending  of  all  who  were  prominent  in  politics,  science, 
literature,  and  art  made  the  balls  and  receptions  at  the  Tuileries 
always  interesting,  especially  to  strangers.  It  was  often  my  good 
fortune  in  after  years  to  mingle  with  the  brilliant  throng  who 
were  invited  to  the  Chateau  during  the  reign  of  Louis  Philippe  ; 
but  the  novelty  of  the  scene,  as  well  as  the  great  personages  I 
had  never  beheld  before,  imparted  a  charm  to  my  first  ball  at  the 
Tuileries  I  hardly  ever  derived  from  any  succeeding  one.  It  was 
days  before  I  recovered  from  the  spell.  The  great  men,  the  lovely 
women,  the  glittering  uniforms,  the  dazzling  toilettes,  the  grace 
and  elegance,  the  pomp  and  splendour  of  the  spectacle,  haunted 
my  mind,  and  I  lingered  over  it  with  regret  that  it  was  so  short 
lived.  I  thought  that  to  a  ball  at  the  Tuileries  might  be  applied 
the  lines  wherein  the  poet  depicts  our  reluctance  at  leaving  the 
world : 

*  From  hence  how  few,  like  sated  guests,  depart 
From  life's  full  banquet  with  a  cheerful  heart  1* 


CHAPTER  XIV. 
PARIS  (continued). 

VISIT  TO  FORREST ATTEMPT  AT  ASSASSINATION — THIERS  AND  GUIZOT  IN  THE 

TRIBUNE — POLITICAL  MACHINERY. 

NEAR  three  months  had  glided  by  since  I  arrived  in  Paris,  and 
my  passion  for  it  grew  daily ;  but  I  felt  it  would  be  inglorious  to 
yield  to  its  blandishments  when  there  was  still  so  much  work  to 
be  done.  All  Europe  was  before  me,  and  my  original  plan  was 
to  make  a  general  survey  of  its  features  before  settling  down  in 
any  special  locality.  My  companion  Williams,  who  was  as  much 
a  victim  as  myself  to  the  enchantments  of  Paris,  agreed  with  me 
that  a  determined  effort  must  be  made  to  resist  the  siren,  and 
that  we  should  be  warned  in  time  by  the  fate  of  Hannibal,  who 
failed  in  his  mission  by  his  prolonged  sojourn  amid  the  delights 
of  Capua. 

We  decided,  then,  to  take  to  flight  in  the  early  days  of  Febru 
ary,  and  direct  our  steps  to  that  fabled  land  of  Italy,  whose  won 
ders,  ancient  and  modern,  awaited  us,  and  which  our  classic  studies 
had  made  so  familiar.  We  found  on  inquiry  that  the  only  mode 
then  of  travelling  in  Italy  was  in  a  wretched  conveyance  called 
a  vettura  which  was  both  slow  and  uncomfortable  ;  so  we 
agreed  to  buy  a  travelling  carriage  in  Paris,  and  use  post-horses. 
Though  more  expensive,  it  was  far  more  luxurious,  with  the  ad 
ditional  advantage  of  enabling  us  to  stop  when,  where,  and  as 
long  as  we  pleased. 

As  our  post-chaise  was  commodious,  I  proposed  to  Williams 
that  we  should  select  some  person  to  accompany  us,  and  sug 
gested  Forrest,  who  was  in  Paris,  and  disposed  to  travel.  Williams 
accepted  my  proposition,  and  thought  Forrest  was  just  the  man, 
as  he  was  full  of  spirits,  good  jokes,  and  spicy  quotations. 

I  found  Forrest  in  Paris  on  my  arrival,  where  he  was  leading 
a  very  regular  life,  studying  French,  and  initiating  himself  into 
French  usages.  He  was  living  in  a  pension,  a  sort  of  boarding- 
house,  if  such  a  term  might  be  applied  to  a  suite  of  some 
twenty  rooms.  I  suppose  that  quite  half  of  the  Parisians  lived  on 
floors  or  flats,  which  were  as  commodious  as  houses  in  the  United 
States.  I  was  chatting  with  him  in  his  room  just  before  dinner 


134  Paris. 

on  the  occasion  of  my  first  visit,  when  suddenly  the  door  was 
thrown  open  by  a  lady  filled  with  terror,  who  cried  out, '  Murder ! 
help  !'  and  fell  fainting  on  the  floor.  I  assisted  in  laying  her  on 
a  sofa,  and  rushed  out  with  Forrest  to  see  what  was  the  matter. 
We  made  our  way  to  the  salon,  and  found  there  a  French  officer 
in  uniform,  with  a  drawn  sword  in  his  hand,  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room  in  extreme  agitation.  Two  or  three  other  persons 
were  in  different  corners,  looking  very  much  moved  and  alarmed. 
We  found  no  one  killed,  however,  as  far  as  we  could  see,  and 
after  a  time  discovered  the  cause  of  the  commotion.  It  seems 
that  a  few  minutes  previously  the  officer  in  question  had  sud 
denly  dashed  into  the  room,  and  accused  the  master  of  the  house 
he  found  there  of  an  unprovoked  act  of  treachery,  when,  without 
more  ado,  he  ripped  out  his  sword  and  made  a  furious  lunge  at 
him,  which  happily  passed  between  his  arm  and  his  body.  The 
intended  victim  took  to  his  heels,  whilst  his  wife  threw  herself  on 
his  assailant  and  prevented  any  pursuit.  It  was  at  this  moment 
the  lady  alluded  to  flew  to  Forrest's  room  shrieking  for  succour. 
After  a  time  the  enraged  officer,  finding  his  enemy  gone,  sheathed 
his  sword  and  went  away. 

It  turned  out  that,  from  some  unknown  motive,  the  old  man 
who  kept  the  house  had  written  to  the  Commandant  at  the 
Tuileries,  where  the  officer  was  on  duty,  alleging  he  was  con 
nected  with  a  conspiracy  against  the  King.  The  letter  was  laid 
before  the  accused  man,  who  denied  the  charge  ;  and,  boiling  over 
with  rage,  he  rushed  to  the  residence  of  his  accuser  to  take  venge 
ance  for  the  outrage.  I  concluded  from  this  incident,  which 
occurred  soon  after  I  reached  Paris,  that  the  French  were  exceed 
ingly  impulsive,  and  that  it  was  dangerous  to  trifle  with  men 
who  carried  swords.  The  lady  who  startled  me  by  her  outcries 
was  an  American,  a  niece  of  Stephen  Girard,  the  millionaire  of 
Philadelphia,  and  wife  of  Dr.  Clarke. 

Forrest  cheerfully  accepted  our  invitation  to  accompany  us  to 
Italy,  and  our  departure  was  fixed  for  February  nth.  I  had 
still  a  week  to  perambulate  Paris,  and,  as  I  had  as  yet  seen 
nothing  of  the  legislative  machinery  now  in  full  action,  I  deter 
mined  to  make  an  inspection  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 

I  was  the  more  attracted  thither  as  a  field-day  was  to  come 
off  on  the  ensuing  Wednesday,  when  many  of  the  great  orators 
were  expected  to  appear  on  parade.  I  obtained  a  ticket  for  a 
reserved  place,  and  went  to  the  Chamber  full  of  expectation. 

The  Deputies  occupied  a  splendid  edifice  facing  the  Place 


Paris.  135 

de  la  Concorde.  The  hall  where  they  sat  was  large  and  lofty, 
and  the  desks  were  arranged  in  circular  rows  as  in  Washington. 
The  President  sat  upon  a  lofty  estrade,  and  before  him  was  the 
'  tribune/  which  the  members  ascended  when  they  addressed  the 
Chamber.  It  consisted  simply  of  a  platform  lower  than  that  of 
the  President,  and  enclosed  in  front — a  sort  of  pulpit,  in  fact. 
The  Deputies  numbered  four  hundred  and  fifty-nine,  and  were 
required  to  be  thirty-five  years  old,  with  an  income  of  3000 
francs.  They  were  elected  by  less  than  one  hundred  and  seventy- 
five  thousand  voters  in  a  population  of  thirty-two  millions  and 
a  half.  No  one  could  vote  under  twenty-five  years  of  age,  or 
less  income  than  1250  francs.  The  suffrage  was,  therefore^ 
based  on  property,  and  so  limited  that  the  opinion  of  the  country 
could  hardly  be  represented. 

The  Chamber  was  crowded  the  day  of  my  visit.  The  mem 
bers  were  all  in  their  places,  and  the  spectators  overflowed. 
Business  began  at  two  P.M.,  and  several  speakers  succeeded  each 
other  at  the  tribune.  Their  delivery  was  fluent  and  forcible 
but  in  tone  and  manner  more  serious  than  I  expected.  French 
men  in  conversation  are  so  animated,  and  often  impassioned, 
that  I  anticipated  more  fervour  in  oratory. 

They  were  listened  to  with  attention  ;  but  one  peculiarity 
attracted  my  attention.  The  speakers  were  often  interrupted 
by  remarks  addressed  to  them  by  members  from  their  places,, 
and  which  were  often  of  so  piquant  a  character  as  to  affect 
both  the  orator  and  the  assembly.  It  required  much  self-pos 
session  and  readiness  on  the  part  of  the  Deputy  speaking  to 
take  advantage  of  these  interruptions,  and  not  be  confused  by 
them.  When  these  interpolations  were  too  frequent,  the  Presi 
dent  intervened,  and  ordered  silence,  pretty  much  in  the  voice  of 
authority  of  a  pedagogue  at  the  head  of  a  school ;  and  if  too 
much  noise  prevailed,  he  rang  a  bell  at  his  side  till  he  brought 
the  refractory  assembly  to  order. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  general  movement  and  buzzing  of 
both  the  members  and  spectators.  M.  Thiers  ascended  the 
tribune.  He  was  so  short  that  only  his  head — a  very  fine  one 
—and  his  shoulders  were  visible  above  the  desk.  Like  a  skilful 
actor  he  performed  a  series  of  little  tricks,  as  they  may  be 
called,  before  he  uttered  a  word.  He  carefully  arranged  some 
documents  before  him  ;  he  placed  his  handkerchief  on  one 
side,  and  his  glass  of  water  on  the  other.  He  then  adjusted 
his  spectacles,  and  calmly  regarded  the  assembly  till  all  the 


1 36  v  Paris. 

rustling  ceased,  and  perfect  silence  was  established.  He  then 
began  his  address.  His  voice  was  shrill,  but  clear  ;  his  enuncia 
tion  very  distinct ;  his  manner  was  familiar,  easy,  natural,  as 
though  he  was  talking  to  a  circle  of  friends.  This  was  the 
peculiar  style  of  his  oratory,  and  totally  different  from  all  the 
others.  Notwithstanding  his  colloquial  tone,  there  was  not  want 
ing  either  a  certain  dignity  or  authority — the  dignity  of  great 
intellect,  and  the  authority  of  a  leading  Minister.  If  he  was 
interrupted  by  a  remark  he  took  no  notice,  but  waited  till  its 
effect  had  passed,  and  then  resumed.  He  was  noted  for  great 
fluency,  and  above  all  for  the  extremest  lucidity.  The  French 
are  always  logical  and  clear,  but  Thiers  in  his  speeches,  as  in  his 
writings,  transcended  all  others.  He  especially  excelled  in  occa 
sionally  employing  some  epigrammatic  phrase  which,  with  sin 
gular  felicity,  described  the  point  or  situation  he  wished  to 
illustrate.  He  never  used  a  note  of  any  kind,  trusting  to  his 
memory  and  his  inspirations.  He  rarely  used  gesture,  which 
was  always  graceful  as  emphatic.  He  spoke  for  an  hour,  and 
when  he  descended  from  the  tribune  there  was  a  general  explo 
sion  of  voices,  that  reminded  me  of  the  shouting  of  children  when 
school  had  broke  up.  The  presence  and  eloquence  of  the  bril 
liant  Thiers  had  subdued  his  audience  into  an  unnatural  state  of 
quiet ;  but  the  moment  the  restraint  was  over,  the  pent-up  mem 
bers  burst  into  a  chorus  of  comment  that  stopped  all  business 
until  their  minds  were  duly  relieved,  and  then  the  sitting  was 
renewed. 

Two  or  three  speakers  of  the  Opposition  followed  each  other, 
when  M.  Guizot  advanced  to  the  tribune.  Immediate  silence 
ensued.  There  was  something  so  imposing  in  his  manner  that 
the  Chamber  settled  down  at  once  when  he  appeared  before 
them.  Nothing  could  be  more  striking  than  the  contrast  pre 
sented  in  all  respects  to  that  of  his  great  rival  Thiers.  The 
latter  was  bland  and  affable  in  manner  and  tone,  whilst  Guizot 
was  austere  in  demeanour  and  despotic  in  air.  He  spoke  with 
out  the  least  effort  ;  his  voice  was  sonorous  and  distinct ;  his 
language  elevated  and  choice.  He  laid  down  his  opinions  as 
though  they  were  infallible.  There  was  no  attempt  to  convince 
or  persuade.  He  expected  them  to  accept  his  views  or  prepare 
for  perdition.  There  was  little  interruption,  for  all  parties 
seemed  somewhat  in  awe  of  this  parliamentary  dictator. 

The  attraction  was  over  when  once  these  leviathans  of 
the  debate  had  disnorted  themselves,  and  I  retired.  Whilst  my 


Paris.  137 

hand  was  in  I  thought  I  would  walk  over  to  the  palace  of  the 
Luxembourg,  appropriated  to  the  sittings  of  the  Chamber  of 
Peers.  I  found  this  body  far  more  orderly,  but  less  interesting, 
than  the  rival  Chamber.  They  were  very  distingue  in  appear 
ance,  and  included  many  of  the  celebrities  of  France.  They  held 
their  places  for  life,  and  were  nominated  by  the  King.  There 
was  therefore  no  opposition  to  the  Government,  as  in  the  other 
Chamber,  and  this  rendered  the  proceedings  more  dull,  if  more 
dignified. 

As  I  strolled  homewards  I  reflected  on  the  character  of  the 
Government  the  last  Revolution  had  brought  forth,  and  it  seemed 
to  me  hardly  less  absolute  than  the  one  overthrown.  The  King 
was  invested  by  the  new  charter  with  immense  power.  Of  the 
two  Chambers,  the  upper  one  really  belonged  to  him,  as  he 
named  all  the  members  ;  and  in  the  lower  one  he  could  always 
command  a  majority  by  occult  influences  ;  videlicet,  buying  up 
the  members  with  patronage  rather  than  money.  The  immense 
number  of  offices  at  the  disposal  of  the  Government  in  France 
exceeded  all  belief.  In  the  Treasury  department  alone,  whose 
ramifications  extended  over  the  whole  country,  there  were  57,000 
places.  In  the  other  departments,  especially  that  of  War,  the 
posts  were  hardly  less  numerous. 

In  the  way  of  statistics  on  this  subject,  I  may  mention  others 
which  were  all  in  the  gift  of  the  Executive.  For  instance,  38,000 
mayors  of  communes ;  35,000  communal  rural  guards,  who  watched 
over  the  security  of  the  harvests  and  the  conduct  of  the  villagers. 
These  were  supplemented  by  1 3,000  gendarmes  ;  30,000  special 
watchmen  to  protect  private  property ;  30,000  custom-house 
agents  to  guard  the  frontiers  and  collect  the  duties.  The  forests 
and  water-courses  were  supervised  by  10,000  wood-keepers  and 
fishing  inspectors  ;  6000  commissaires  superintended  the  police 
throughout  the  kingdom.  Besides  these  there  were  in  Paris  7000 
commissaires  at  the  head  of  the  police,  which  numbered  some 
40,000  men.  All  the  crimes  and  offences  reported  by  these  agents 
of  the  public  security  were  tried  by  ^ooojuges  de  paix  and  3450 
judges  of  the  higher  courts.  The  salaries  of  this  vast  official  hier 
archy — and  it  was  only  a  part — were  generally  low,  but  the  burden 
on  the  taxpayers  must  have  been  great.  These  figures  are  pretty 
conclusive  proof  that  the  French  people  demand  a  deal  of  vigilant 
control ;  and  it  must  be  regarded  as  necessary,  since  no  revolution, 
monarchical  or  republican,  effects  any  change  in  this  respect 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PARIS  (concluded}. 

THE  STREETS — SHOPS — SERVANTS — CHEAPNESS — CHURCHES BONNES  D*ENFANS 

A  CONCIERGE COIFFURES,   ETC. 

BEFORE  leaving  Paris  I  am  tempted  to  say  something  in  a  ram 
bling  way  of  certain  features  and  usages  hitherto  unnoticed.  I 
may  have  dwelt  on  it  somewhat  tediously  ;  but,  apart  from  its 
manifold  attractions,  it  was  my  first  love  in  Europe,  and  I 
thought  it  worthy  my  lavish  admiration. 

In  the  beginning  of  1835,  Paris  was  pretty  much  in  the  condi 
tion  that  Napoleon  had  left  it.  The  streets  were  paved  with 
large  square  stones,  with  a  gutter  running  through  the  middle. 
Footpaths  were  few,  and  walking  was  therefore  difficult,  and 
often  dangerous,  as  the  various  vehicles  generally  monopolised 
the  roadway,  and  pedestrians,  to  save  themselves,  were  often 
obliged  to  take  refuge  in  the  shops  or  gateways.  At  night  the 
streets  were  lighted  by  oil-lamps  suspended  in  the  middle  by 
cords.  They  did  little  more  than  render  darkness  visible.  Whilst 
the  cafe's  and  shops  remained  open  in  the  principal  thoroughfares 
it  was  easier  to  find  your  way.  These  resorts  were  always  brilliantly 
illuminated,  as  the  French  seemed  fond  of  light,  and  the  intro 
duction  of  gas  would  make  Paris  at  night  as  bright  as  noonday. 

As  for  sewers,  they  were  few  and  far  between,  and  it  often 
perplexed  me  to  know  where  all  the  dirty  water  ran.  There 
were  symptoms  of  improvement  in  this  respect,  and  the  King 
seemed  determined  to  leave  Paris  in  a  better  state  than  he  found 
it.  He  was  rapidly  completing  the  public  edifices  begun  by 
Napoleon.  Not  less  striking  would  be  the  proposed  transformation 
of  the  open  space  between  the  Tuileries  Gardens  and  the  Champs 
Elysees,  called  the  Place  de  la  Concorde,  and  which  was  to  be 
decorated  with  fountains  and  statues.  This  winter  I  found  it 
little  better  than  a  quagmire,  and  in  summer  it  must  be  little  else 
than  another  Desert  of  Sahara. 

Nothing  astonished  me  more  than  the  houses  in  Paris,  all 
built  of  a  porous  white  stone  found  in  quarries  in  the  environs,  and 


Paris.  139 

generally  six  stories  in  height,  and  sometimes  more.  In  the  cen 
tre  of  most  was  the  courtyard,  which  varied  in  size,  but  always 
large  enough  for  a  carriage  to  drive  in  and  discharge  its  occu 
pants.  The  upper  end  of  the  courtyard  was  frequently  used  for 
a  coachhouse  and  stable.  The  house  was  generally  let  out  in 
floors  or  flats,  each  comprising  sitting-  and  bed-rooms  and  kitchen. 
These,  of  course,  differed  in  number,  size,  and  price.  Thus  a 
dozen  families  rnight  live  in  the  same  house,  and  the  only  things 
common  to  all  were  the  entrance,  and  the  staircase,  which  ran 
to  the  top  of  the  house.  La  premiere ',  or  first  floor,  was  always 
the  dearest,  and  the  top  floor  the  cheapest.  On  the  first  might 
live  a  millionaire,  and  on  the  last  his  tailor,  all  under  the  same 
roof,  but  otherwise  isolated.  I  found  mounting  three  and  four 
staircases  a  fatiguing  process.  The  French  seemed  very  fond 
•of  looking-glasses.  Every  room  was  ornamented  usually  with 
four  opposite  to  each  other,  that  by  reflection  added  apparently  to 
its  size.  Whether  this  multiplication  of  mirrors  was  simply  meant 
for  adornment,  or  to  gratify  the  vanity  of  which  the  French  are 
accused,  I  know  not ;  but  their  effect  on  the  dress  and  appear 
ance  of  ladies  must  have  been  advantageous,  as  they  could  not 
fail  to  see  themselves  at  every  turn. 

The  only  entrance,  called  the  porte-cochere,  consisted  of  a 
large  double-door,  open  by  day  and  shut  at  night.  This  was  in 
especial  charge  of  a  porter,  the  concierge,  whose  business  was  to 
allow  no  one  to  pass  without  inquiry.  He  received  all  letters 
and  cards,  and  sent  them  to  the  various  apartments.  It  was 
wise  to  be  on  good  terms  with  this  important  personage,  as  he 
might  be  very  useful  or  the  contrary,  as  you  treated  him.  He 
lived  in  a  room  adjoining  the  gate.  In  this  room  he  often  had 
a  wife,  and  it  constituted  his  sitting-  and  bed-room  and  kitchen. 
It  was  generally  dark  and  close  ;  in  short,  a  wretched  dwelling. 
Its  tenant  rarely  got  a  sound  sleep,  as  during  the  night  at  every 
knock  he  was  obliged  to  pull  a  cord  adjoining  his  bed,  and  get 
up  to  see  who  entered.  They  were  a  peculiar  class,  these  same 
concierges,  with  little  of  the  loquacity  which  characterises  their 
countrymen,  having,  perhaps,  too  much  on  their  minds  to  waste 
time  in  talk.  They  were  the  depositaries  of  all  the  secrets  of  the 
house,  and  usually  played  into  the  hands  of  both  parties,  the 
cheated  and  the  cheat.  No  amorous  intrigue  could  go  on  with 
out  their  having  a  part  in  it,  and  they  levied  tribute  all  round. 
A  writer  stigmatised  them  as  perhaps  the  worst  species  of  ser- 


140  Paris. 

vants  that  ever  infested  a  domestic  establishment.  They  were 
inadequately  paid  by  the  proprietor,  and  consequently  preyed 
upon  those  who  had  the  misfortune  of  living  under  their  surveil 
lance.  They  compelled  the  tradesmen  who  served  those  who  lived 
in  the  house  to  pay  five  per  cent  for  every  article  that  entered. 

There  was  a  characteristic  story  told  of  a  concierge  by 
Decamps,  the  celebrated  painter.  He  related  that  one  day  a 
gentleman  called  at  his  house  and  asked  if  he  was  at  home. 
Receiving  a  reply  in  the  affirmative,  the  visitor  was  about  mount 
ing  the  first  of  three  pair  of  stairs,  when  the  concierge  called  after 
him  and  said, 

'  As  you  are  about  visiting  M.  De'camps,  perhaps  you  will  be 
so  kind  as  to  carry  up  his  trousers  that  I  have  just  brushed/ 

1  Most  certainly,'  answered  the  stranger,  '  and  very  happy  to 
render  you  so  small  a  service/ 

When  the  bell  of  his  apartment  rang,  De'camps  opened  the 
door,  and  great  was  his  astonishment  to  recognise  his  patron,  the 
Duke  of  Orleans,  heir  to  the  throne,  who  laughingly  presented 
him  the  trousers  the  lazy  concierge  had  confided  to  him. 

Maisons  meubl&s,  or  furnished  houses,  abounded  in  Paris,  and 
were  chiefly  occupied  by  travellers.  They  were  low-priced  at 
the  time  in  question.  A  sitting-  and  bedroom  and  dressing-room 
could  be  had  from  four  dollars  upwards  a  week,  according  to 
the  flat  you  preferred.  They  were  well  furnished,  but  minus 
carpets.  Accustomed  to  the  carpeted  rooms  of  Philadelphia,  it 
was  some  time  before  I  grew  reconciled  to  the  naked  though 
polished  floors  of  Paris.  They  were  frotti  or  rubbed  every  day 
with  wax,  which  gave  them  a  gloss,  but  made  them  slippery  as 
ice.  It  required  some  practice  to  avoid  a  fall.  I  imagined  I 
should  find  them  pleasanter  in  summer,  when  they  would  look 
cooler  than  a  carpet. 

Another  novelty,  I  remember,  was  to  find  men  always  em 
ployed  as  chambermaids.  The  principal  reason  was  that  waxing 
the  floors  with  a  hard  brush  strapped  to  the  foot  was  too  fatiguing 
for  women.  The  English  and  American  ladies  always  complained 
of  men  in  Paris  doing  chamber-work  ;  but  by  degrees  they  got 
inured  to  it.  This  also  was  a  peculiar  class,  with  traits  more  like  wo 
men  than  men.  They  were  very  chatty,  polite,  and  always  discreet.. 

One  of  the  greatest  luxuries  of  Paris  were  the  beds.  Spring 
mattresses  were  then  unknown  in  the  United  States.  Nothing 
but  feather-beds  or  hard  mattresses  were  used,  that  were  both 


Paris.  141 

unhealthy  and  uncomfortable.  After  these  the  elasticity  and 
buoyancy  of  a  French  bed  were  delightful  in  the  extreme,  and 
'  a  joy  for  ever.'  I  can  credit  the  story  told  of  some  of  the  rab 
ble  who  were  found  in  the  bedchamber  of  Charles  X.  at  the 
Tuileries,  in  the  Revolution  of  1830.  All  unmindful  of  the  bloody 
fray  in  which  they  had  been  engaged,  they  were  amusing  them 
selves,  like  so  many  children,  by  bounding  up  and  down  on  the 
spring  mattress  of  the  King ;  a  sensation  utterly  new  to  them. 
I  was  quite  sure  that  French  beds,  like  democratic  principles,  were 
certain  to  make  the  tour  of  the  civilised  world. 

Baths  were  much  used  in  Paris,  though  no  such  thing  as  a 
bath-room  was  found  in  the  houses,  from  the  want  of  water-pipes, 
which  were  not  known.  A  bath-tub  of  zinc  was  sent  to  the  house 
by  the  numerous  bathing  etablissements,  and  was  then  lined  with  a 
white  cloth,  and  filled  with  water  hot  or  cold,  and  at  a  very  small 
expense.  Water  was  supplied  to  all  the  houses  by  the  porteurs 
d'eau — water-carriers — who  were  seen  in  great  numbers  in  the 
streets,  pulling  a  hand-cart  with  barrels  containing  the  indispen 
sable  liquid.  This  was  another  class  quite  sui  generis,  and  would 
probably  disappear  some  day  with  the  march  of  improvement. 
The  French  of  all  classes  were  very  cleanly,  which  was  the  more 
creditable  that  water  was  so  scarce  a  commodity. 

An  enjoyment,  almost  equal  to  the  beds,  I  discovered  in  the 
public  carriages  of  Paris.  These  consisted  of  the  fiacre,  with 
four  places  and  two  horses  ;  the  citadine,  with  two  places  and  one 
horse  ;  the  cabriolet,  with  one  place,  the  driver  sitting  alongside 
of  you.  The  latter  resembled  the  old  American  gig.  These 
vehicles  were  always  clean,  and  very  cheap.  The  fixed  charge 
of  two  francs — forty  cents — per  hour,  and  thirty  cents  for  a 
single  distance,  was  printed  on  a  card  placed  inside,  so  there  could 
be  no  dispute  on  that  vital  point.  The  driver  was  also  required 
by  the  police-laws  to  give  a  ticket  as  you  entered  with  the  num 
ber  of  his  carriage,  so  that  you  might  recover  anything  left 
behind.  All  carriages  were  compelled  to  carry  lighted  lamps 
at  night — very  necessary  in  the  dark  streets  of  Paris.  The 
cockers,  or  drivers,  piqued  my  curiosity  not  a  little.  They  were 
the  solitary  class  in  Paris  who  never  talked.  I  could  hardly 
believe  they  were  veritable  Frenchmen.  They  sat  upon  their 
perches  from  morn  to  dewy  eve,  neither  looking  to  the  right  or 
left,  or  ever  opening  their  mouths.  What  they  could  be  thinking 
of  always  puzzled  me.  A  good  many  took  refuge  in  sleep. 


142  Paris. 

The  only  sign  of  life  they  ever  gave  was  when  you  jumped  into 
their  vehicles,  and  cried  (d  VheureP — by  the  hour — when  they 
began  at  once  to  crack  their  whips,  which  they  did  with  great 
dexterity.  This  was  meant,  I  fancy,  to  wake  up  the  drowsy 
horses,  for  they  never  touched  them  with  the  lash.  The  noise 
of  whips  could  be  heard  all  over  Paris  by  day  and  night.  This 
seemed  to  me  the  solitary  abandon  in  which  these  strange 
creatures  ever  indulged.  The  only  thing  they  appeared  to 
have  in  horror  was  an  tmeute,  or  insurrection  of  any  sort,  for 
their  coaches  were  always  seized  the  first  thing  by  the  mob  to 
convert  into  barricades.  On  the  least  symptom  of  any  trouble 
they  vanished  from  the  streets,  and  were  heard  of  no  more  till 
order  was  restored.  They  were  the  only  human  beings  in  Paris 
who  took  no  interest  in  politics.  It  was  all  the  same  to  them 
who  reigned  or  governed.  Whether  Bonapartists,  Legitimists, 
Orleanists,  or  Republicans,  they  were  ready  to  drive  them  all  ; 
and  so  long  as  the  gratuity  usually  given  was  liberal,  they  were 
content  under  whatever  Government  existed. 

In  proof  of  their  philosophic  turn  of  mind,  I  will  quote  a  dia 
logue  with  one  of  them,  told  by  Balling,  who  seemed  by  some 
mysterious  process  to  have  enticed  him  into  conversation. 

*  What  were  you/  he  asked,  '  under  the  Emperor  ?' 

'  A  cocker  defiacrej — a  hackney  coachman, — was  the  answer. 

'  And  what  under  Charles  X.  ?' 

'  A  hackney  coachman.' 

'  I  see  you  are  still  one  under  Louis  Philippe ;  but  what  would 
you  be  if  a  Republic  came  ?' 

'  A  hackney  coachman/  said  the  cynic  of  the  box.  '  What 
are  dynasties  to  me  ?  Let  them  get  on  as  they  can.  It  is  no 
affair  of  mine,  as  I  never  expect  to  be  anything  else  than  a  hack 
ney  coachman/ 

The  churches  of  Paris  deeply  interested  me.  They  were 
among  the  most  striking  edifices  of  the  capital,  and  some  of 
them  very  ancient.  But  it  was  less  their  grand  architectural 
proportions  that  attracted  me  than  the  strange  appearance  of 
their  interior.  Instead  of  the  aisles  and  orderly  rows  of  pews 
lined  with  cloth  to  which  I  had  been  accustomed,  I  found  the 
vast  space  solely  occupied  by  common  straw  chairs  that  belonged 
to  all  alike.  High  and  low,  rich  and  poor,  here  mingled  on  terms 
of  perfect  equality,  proving  that  in  Catholic  countries  all  were 
considered  on  a  par  in  the  sight  of  God.  The  churches  were 


Pans.  143 

always  open  day  and  night,  and  I  never  entered  one  at  any  hour 
without  seeing  people  scattered  about  devoutly  rapt  in  prayer. 
*  Many  a  servant  or  peasant  in  going  to  market,'  says  an 
observer,  '  many  an  artisan  in  going  to  his  daily  work,  enters  a 
church,  and  remains  there  in  some  corner  unobserved.  This 
must  arise  from  piety  of  the  heart.  Nobody,  perhaps,  thinks 
better  of  them  for  doing  it,  nor  would  think  worse  of  them  if 
they  did  not.' 

Many  persons,  I  remarked,  often  discarded  the  chairs,  and 
knelt  on  the  cold  hard  stone.  None  of  these  sanctuaries  were 
floored  with  wood.  I  found  that  church-bells  were  rare  in  Paris. 
As  the  churches  were  never  closed,  and  the  hours  of  mass  known 
to  all,  it  was  not  considered  necessary,  I  suppose,  to  make  appeals 
to  the  ears  of  the  indifferent  by  the  noise  of  a  bell.  Still,  the 
merry  chimes  of  Protestant  countries  are  none  the  less  a  charm. 

In  all  the  churches  I  perceived  numerous  candles  burning  in 
various  parts  of  them,  which  was  done  in  memory  of  some  deceased 
person  by  an  attached  mourner.  These  candles  were  either  of 
wax  or  tallow,  and  sold  for  small  sums  on  the  premises,  and 
generally  by  old  women  who  lived  on  the  slender  profits.  The 
cathedral  of  Notre  Dame  is  the  oldest  church  in  Paris,  and  dates 
from  the  twelfth  century.  The  readers  of  Victor  Hugo's  famous 
romance  of  Notre  Dame  may  remember  that  he  assigned  a  habi 
tation  in  the  belfry  to  Quasimodo  the  bell-ringer.  It  is  related 
that  hundreds  of  people  who  visit  the  cathedral  invariably  mount 
to  the  tower  in  quest  of  Quasimodo's  quarters  ;  and  his  oblig 
ing  successor  always  points  out  some  locality  as  the  identical 
spot,  laughing  in  his  sleeve  at  the  credulity  of  the  curious,  who 
forget  that  Hugo's  Quasimodo  was  a  fictitious  character. 

One  of  the  attractive  features  of  Paris  were  les  passages,  or 
arcades  as  they  would  probably  be  called  in  the  United  States. 
There  was  one  built  in  Philadelphia  when  I  was  a  boy,  but  it 
never  paid,  and  has  long  since  disappeared.  But  here  they  were 
favourite  resorts,  and  filled  with  shops  of  every  variety,  and  often 
with  restaurants  and  cafe's.  They  were  constantly  on  the  increase, 
and  I  always  found  them  delightful  places  to  saunter  about  in, 
especially  of  a  wet  day.  In  1835,  the  Passage  Vivienne  was  con 
sidered  the  handsomest,  and  was  much  frequented.  So  was  the 
Galerie  d'Orleans  in  the  Palais  Royal,  constructed  by  the  King 
on  his  own  property.  All  the  windows  and  doors  were  encased 
in  brasswork,  which  was  cleaned  daily,  and  had  therefore  a  bright 


1 44  Paris. 

and  showy  appearance.  The  people  who  kept  these  shops  all 
lived  over  them.  The  light  was  bad,  and  the  air  still  worse. 
They  never  complained  of  either,  but  accommodated  themselves 
to  their  circumstances  with  the  utmost  cheerfulness.  Wonder 
fully  practical  in  their  philosophy  were  the  French. 

Nothing-  charmed  me  more  of  a  fine  winter's  day  than  to  go 
to  the  gardens  of  the  Tuileries,  to  see  the  children  who  were 
brought  there  from  the  adjoining  quarters,  and  who  disported 
themselves  in  that  sunny  space  to  their  hearts'  content.  Their 
neat  dresses,  good  manners,  and  absence  of  timidity  or  awkward 
ness,  were  alike  remarkable.  They  were  all  attended  by  a  class 
of  women  that  have  no  equal,  I  fancy,  in  any  other  country. 
They  were  called  bonnes  denfans — children's  nurses — but  how 
superior  to  those  usually  charged  with  so  important  a  mission 
as  looking  after  the  tone  and  behaviour  of  children!  Many  of 
them  were  from  various  districts  of  France — Normandy,  La 
Vendee,  and  the  South — and  wore  their  provincial  costumes,  that 
were  very  picturesque.  Their  judicious  treatment  of  the  children 
struck  me  greatly.  They  spoke  to  them  in  a  matronly  voice,  and 
appealed  to  their  sense  of  propriety  ;  told  them  what  was  comme 
ilfaut — a  magic  phrase  ;  and  with  an  air  of  remonstrance  checked 
any  rudeness  or  extravagance  of  language  or  demeanour.  They 
invariably  addressed  them  as  Monsieur  or  Mademoiselle,  to  give 
them  a  due  sense  of  their  responsibility.  The  respectable  appear 
ance  and  correct  conversation  of  these  bonnes  d'enfans  always 
inspired  the  children  with  deference,  and  a  call  to  order  was  never 
disregarded,  as  was  often  the  case  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies. 
Most  of  these  bonnes  were  single  ;  but  if  married,  with  children, 
they  sent  their  progeny  to  the  country,  where  they  were  brought 
up  at  a  small  charge,  and  in  better  health  than  in  the  town. 

The  French  domestic  servants  of  all  kinds  I  thought  vastly 
superior  to  any  I  had  ever  seen.  Their  intelligence  and  civility 
were  beyond  praise,  and,  whilst  never  servile,  they  were  never 
rude,  much  less  insolent.  As  a  rule  they  were  badly  paid,  the 
wages  averaging  from  fifty  to  sixty  dollars  per  annum.  From  a 
census,  the  number  of  domestic  servants  in  France  were  esti 
mated  at  50,000  odd,  a  very  small  number  to  the  population.  Like 
ill  the  lower  classes,  they  were  thrifty,  and  always  managed 
to  lay  aside  a  portion  of  their  limited  earnings.  The  women  ser 
vants  of  all  descriptions  were  wonderfully  neat  in  their  attire. 
They  were  scarcely  ever  seen  with  bonnets,  but  wore  a  simple 


Paris.  J  45 

muslin  cap,  gracefully  adjusted  to  the  head  ;  and  their  dresses  of 
coloured  dimity  or  serge,  though  plain,  were  always  well  fitted  to 
the  person. 

The  French  are  wonderfully  given  to  amusement,  as  I  have 
mentioned,  and  it  cannot  be  denied  they  are  the  easiest  people  in 
the  world  to  amuse.  They  all  look  light-hearted  and  joyous,  and 
give  themselves  up  with  thorough  earnestness  to  pastimes  that 
Americans  or  English  would  consider  childish  and  undignified. 
Men  and  women  enjoy,  with  the  same  zest  as  children,  whirling 
round  on  wooden  horses,  or  making  a  circular  voyage  in  the  aerial 
ships,  and  even  taking  their  turn  in  a  weighing-machine.  On 
/^<?-days,  the  miscellaneous  crowd  all  gazed  at  the  various  shows 
with  rapt  attention,  whether  it  was  a  giant  of  moderate  propor 
tions,  a  fat  woman,  a  dwarf  walking  on  his  knees,  or  a  mermaid 
in  a  bottle,  and  took  no  exception  to  the  impositions  on  their 
credulity.  They  never  stopped  to  think  if  an  amusement  was 
rational  or  not  ;  were  never  deterred  for  a  moment  by  the  fear 
of  making  themselves  ridiculous  ;  they  engaged  with  relish  in  the 
most  puerile  sports,  and  went  home  happy  and  contented  with 
their  day's  frolic.  They  found  pleasure  in  the  most  frivolous  re 
creations,  and  not  in  mere  eating  and  drinking.  Neither  drunken 
ness  nor  quarrelling  was  ever  seen  in  any  merry-makings  of  the 
French. 

To  pass  from  gay  to  grave,  I  was  much  struck  by  the 
touching  usage  that  prevailed  in  Paris  when  a  funeral  passed. 
Everybody,  high  or  low,  raised  his  hat  to  salute  the  deceased, 
whether  a  millionaire  or  a  pauper.  It  was  most  impressive  to 
witness  this  universal  respect  paid  to  the  great  leveller  Death, 
which  knocks  alike  at  the  door  of  rich  and  poor.  It  must  have 
been  most  soothing,  too,  to  the  feelings  of  the  humble  relations  of 
the  merest  mendicant  thus  honoured  by  a  general  salutation  never 
bestowed  in  life.  I  observed,  also,  that  all  the  men  who  attended 
funerals  followed  the  bier  on  foot,  and  with  their  hats  off.  It  was 
the  custom,  too,  for  some  of  the  friends  of  the  deceased,  if  at  all 
distinguished,  to  speak  over  his  grave,  commenting  on  his  virtues 
and  character.  This  deference  for  the  dead  was  singular  in  a  mili 
tary  country,  where  in  all  ages  they  have  faced  death  with  such 
readiness,  not  to  say  indifference.  The  celebrated  cemetery  of 
Pere  la  Chaise  filled  me  with  wonder,  not  only  for  its  great  ex 
tent,  but  the  variety  and  splendour  of  its  monuments.  I  had 
never  before  seen  anything  like  it ;  for  at  that  day,  in  the  United 

L 


1 46  Paris. 

States,  all  interments  took  place  in  the  graveyards  attached  to  the 
churches.  Some  of  the  tombs  in  this  Parisian  City  of  the  Dead 
were  of  great  historical  interest,  especially  that  of  Abelard,  the 
great  scholar  of  the  eleventh  century,  and  whose  unfortunate  love 
for  his  pupil  Heloise  has  been  enshrined  by  the  genius  of  Rous 
seau.  Many  of  the  tombs,  I  found,  were  surrounded  by  small 
gardens  filled  with  flowers,  planted  by  the  affectionate  hands  of 
relatives,  whilst  wreaths  and  immortelles •,  in  token  of  enduring  love, 
were  seen  on  every  side  decorating  the  graves  of  the  departed. 
This  vast  mausoleum  of  Paris  had  none  of  that  funereal  gloom 
which  pervaded  the  burial-grounds  of  my  own  country,  but  rather 
a  pleasing  though  melancholy  aspect,  from  the  number  of  flowers 
scattered  so  profusely  around. 

I  went  abroad  with  the  notion  that  the  United  States  was 
the  cheapest  country  in  the  world,  and  so  it  was  at  that  day  for 
the  mere  necessaries  of  life.  But  I  found  in  Paris  that  you  could 
command  for  the  most  moderate  sums  a  range  of  luxuries  then 
positively  unknown  in  our  young  Republic.  '  There  are  many 
places,'  says  a  writer  of  the  epoch, '  where  a  person  can  live  upon 
as  little  ;  but  there  is  no  place  where  a  person  can  live  so  mag 
nificently  upon  a  little  as  Paris.' 

In  Paris  there  existed  numerous  restaurants  with  divers  rooms, 
all  elegantly  furnished,  where  a  dinner  of  soup,  two  dishes,  dessert, 
with  wine,  was  supplied  at  the  price  of  forty  cents,  and  at  other 
places  for  still  less.  A  good  bath  of  warm  water  cost  but  ten 
cents.  Comfortable  omnibuses,  with  each  place  numbered,  trans 
ported  their  passengers  from  one  end  of  Paris  to  the  other  for  six 
cents.  In  the  less  fashionable  quarters,  on  the  third  or  fourth 
floor,  lodgings  could  be  had  for  almost  nominal  rents.*  Every 
kind  of  amusement  was  accessible  to  the  most  limited  purse.  At 
all  the  theatres  and  operas  places  were  provided  for  the  poorest. 
In  short,  without  plunging  into  further  details,  I  discovered  that 
a  person  of  the  smallest  income,  say  four  or  five  hundred  dollars 
per  annum,  or  even  much  less,  could  command  in  Paris  an  extent 
and  variety  of  enjoyment  utterly  beyond  his  reach  in  any  other 
country. 

*  The  reader  must  remember  that  this  is  the  history  of  an  epoch  long  ago  dis 
appeared, — the  sober,  frugal  days  of  Louis  Philippe.  Since  then,  the  gold  of 
California  has  made  its  way  to  Paris.  The  lavish  expenditures  also  of  the  Second 
Empire  contributed  to  derange  the  moderate  standard  of  price  that  formerly 
prevailed.  In  spite,  however,  of  these  disturbing  causes,  a  modest  income  still 
commands  in  Paris  comforts  and  luxuries  that  double  the  sum  would  fail  to  pur 
chase  in  London  or  New  York. 


Paris.  147 

The  average  income  of  each  Parisian  at  that  day,  taking  one 
with  the  other,  was  calculated  at  1000  francs  (200  dollars)  ;  and 
the  well-known  statist  Millot  divided  its  expenditure  in  the  fol 
lowing  manner.  He  computed  that  '  the  washerwoman  cost  the 
Parisian  more  than  the  schoolmaster ;  the  New  Year's  gift  more 
than  the  accoudieur;  the  theatre  twice  as  much  as  the  nurse ; 
the  bookseller  half  as  much  as  the  theatre ;  the  bath  the  same 
as  the  librarian  ;  and  the  money  spent  in  amusements  and 
luxury  considerably  more  than  that  expended  on  fuel,  the 
dearest  article  of  Parisian  existence.' 

I  noticed  that  wood  was  the  only  material  used  for  fire  in 
Paris,  and  was,  comparatively  speaking,  rather  dear.  The  fire 
places  were  all  small,  and  the  utmost  ingenuity  was  used  to 
extract  the  greatest  heat  from  the  least  quantity  of  the  precious 
combustible.  Fortunately  the  climate  is  neither  cold  or  damp  as 
a  rule,  and  one  may  manage  to  get  on  comfortably  and  economi 
cally  even  with  French  fires.  The  Siberian  rigour  of  our  climate 
would  rapidly  annihilate  the  Parisians  unless  they  invented  some 
other  means  of  warmth. 

Nothing  captivated  me  more  in  Paris  than  the  shops.     The 
most  artistic  taste  and  ingenuity  were  exercised  in  decking  out 
the  windows  to  attract  the  eye "  of  the  passer-by.     The  shops  of 
the  jewellers,  the  confectioners,  the  fruiterers,  and  others  were 
made  exceedingly  seductive,  not  so  much  by  the  richness  of  the 
wares,  as   by  the  beautiful  effects  that  an  almost  magical  skill 
accomplished.      At   night  the  utmost    art  was  used  in    so  dis 
posing    the    light    as    to   make   the   show   still    more   brilliant. 
Similar  care  and  taste  were  used  in   rendering  the  interior  of 
the  shops  pretty  and  attractive  ;  and  this  was  not  all  meant  for 
customers  merely,  as  it  was  the  habit  of  the  shopkeepers  to  live 
more  in  them  than  in  any  other  place.     Even  when  closed  at 
night  their  owners  often  sat  there,  and  received   their  visitors. 
They  found  it  probably  the  liveliest  part  of  the  house,  as   it 
was  sure  to  be  the  most   luxurious   in  decoration.      I  do  not 
hesitate  to  say  that  the   manners  of  the  Parisian  shopkeepers 
were  a  model  for  all  the  world.     Such  ease,  grace,  and  civility ! 
They  approached  with  a  polite  bow  and  a  gentle  look  of  inquiry. 
They  did  their  best  to  satisfy  your  wishes,  even  to  gratify  your 
whims  ;  but  never  urged  a  purchase,  nor  embarrassed  you  with 
offering  or  suggesting  a  multitude  of  things  you  did  not  want. 
Whether  you  bought  or  not,  they  parted  with  you  with  the  same 


148  Paris. 

amiable  salutation  as  that  which  greeted  you.  Whilst  there 
was  an  utter  absence  of  servility,  there  was  never  the  least 
freedom  or  familiarity  in  word  or  look.  The  shops,  as  I  have 
said  before,  were  nearly  altogether  served  by  women ;  and, 
besides  their  engaging  demeanour,  they  enhanced  their  attrac 
tion  by  their  perfect  toilettes.  Always  dressed  with  simplicity, 
but  with  such  neatness  and  taste  as  to  appear  even  elegant,  a 
mere  ribbon  was  either  so  well  chosen  in  colour,  or  so  artistically 
arranged,  as  to  lend  a  charm  to  the  whole  person.  There  was  no 
greater  mistake,  the  French  thought,  than  to  overload  a  dress 
with  trimmings.  They  were  apt  to  smile  at  Englishwomen,  who 
adorned  themselves  to  excess  with  flowers  and  ribbons.  A 
Frenchwoman's  great  solicitude  was  to  have  her  apparel  so  well 
fitted  as  to  set  gracefully:  ornament  was  a  secondary  consideration. 

All  Frenchwomen,  high  and  low,  gave  the  utmost  attention 
to  their  coiffure.  Dishevelled  locks,  or  an  untidy  head,  were  never 
seen  in  Paris.  The  rich  employed  ^.femme  de  chambre,  one  of 
whose  accomplishments  was  to  be  able  to  dress  hair  with  skill ; 
whilst  the  poorer  class  subscribed  annually  to  a  coiffeur,  who,  for 
a  small  sum,  came  every  morning  to  exercise  his  vocation.  In 
Paris  hairdressers  were  almost  as  numerous  as  the  National 
Guard,  not  a  few  of  whom  belonged  to  this  fraternity. 

I  frequently  visited  the  great  gallery  of  the  Louvre  whilst 
in  Paris.  Pictures  of  such  beauty  as  I  found  there  were  then 
to  me  a  great  novelty.  In  Philadelphia  no  private  galleries 
existed  at  that  day,  and  nothing  but  portraits  were  ever  seen 
on  the  walls.  At  the  Louvre  I  first  made  acquaintance  with  the 
various  great  schools  of  art,  and  my  preference  for  the  Italian 
was  by  far  the  most  decided.  The  Dutch  school,  too,  had  great 
charms  for  me.  Apart  from  the  pictures,  I  was  always  interested 
by  the  groups  of  artistes,  men  and  women,  who  were  allowed  by 
the  Government  to  make  copies  of  any  of  the  paintings  that 
struck  their  fancy.  One  of  the  greatest  favourites  of  this  class 
was  an  exquisite  face  of  the  Madonna  by  Murillo,  and  several 
persons  were  always  at  work  upon  it.  They  never  objected  to 
your  glancing  over  their  performance,  and  acknowledged  ap 
proval  by  a  silent  bow.  They  rarely  conversed  with  each  other, 
which  I  suppose  was  a  stipulation  insisted  on  to  prevent  visitors 
being  disturbed.  When  the  hour  of  closing  came  they  departed 
with  the  rest,  leaving  their  easels  and  brushes  behind  for  the 
next  day's  operations. 


Paris.  1 49 

One  of  the  oddest  things  in  Paris,  as  it  struck  me,  was 
the  octroi,  which  was  a  tax  levied  on  all  liquids  and  provisions 
which  entered  Paris.  Consequently,  not  only  carts  and  wagons, 
but  vehicles  of  all  descriptions,  were  stopped  at  the  barrieres>  or 
gates,  and  examined  by  officials  delegated  for  this  duty.  In 
the  case  of  private  carriages  the  door  was  simply  opened,  and  its 
occupants  asked  if  they  had  anything  subject  to  duty.  The 
stoppage  was  brief  and  not  very  troublesome.  The  tax  was  chiefly 
for  the  benefit  of  the  municipality,  and  amounted  annually  to  a 
large  sum.  The  usage  dated  from  centuries  back,  and  the  won 
der  was  that  it  had  survived  so  long.  Many  devices  were  resorted 
to  in  order  to  evade  it,  and  one  that  was  current  at  the  time 
amused  me  much.  It  was  related  that  a  very  sumptuous 
equipage,  with  a  footman  behind  in  rich  livery,  used  to  pass,  in 
and  out  of  one  of  the  barrieres  almost  daily.  After  some  time 
the  suspicions  of  the  officers  began  to  be  excited,  and  one  day 
they  stopped  the  carriage  for  a  thorough  inspection.  They 
ordered  the  footman  to  get  down  to  assist  in  the  search  ;  but, 
finding  he  took  no  heed,  they  seized  upon  him,  and  discovered 
to  their  astonishment  that  the  gorgeous  lackey  was  ingeniously 
constructed  of  tin,  with  a  wax  face  well  covered  by  whiskers. 
He  was  found  to  contain  a  large  quantity  of  choice  wine  subject 
to  heavy  duty.  The  carriage  was,  of  course,  confiscated,  but 
profit  enough  had  been  already  made  to  pay  for  it  many  times 
over. 

Another  of  the  peculiar  institutions  of  Paris,  so  to  speak,  was 
what  was  called  the  claquey  which  I  forgot  to  mention  in  connec 
tion  with  the  theatres.  A  small  band  of  men  at  all  the  operas 
and  theatres  occupied  a  central  bench  in  the  pit,  who  were  under 
the  direction  of  a  leader.  When  he  gave  the  signal  they  broke 
out  in  hearty  applause  that  had  something  of  the  precision  of  a 
military  movement.  They  received  a  small  salary  from  the 
managers,  who  indicated  the  points  in  the  play  to  be  called  to 
the  attention  of  the  audience.  They  also  received  voluntary 
gratuities  from  the  artistes  who  were  anxious  for  notice.  The 
cfa/Qr  leader  of  the  claque  was  an  experienced  judge  of  his  busi 
ness,  and  rarely  applauded  anything  positively  bad.  If  he  made 
a  mistake  he  was  promptly  rebuked  by  the  emphatic  sibilations 
of  the  audience,  who,  on  the  other  hand,  usually  sustained  the 
claque  when  they  were  pleased.  At  the  Grand  Opera  the 
chief  of  the  claque,  Auguste,  reaped  quite  a  large  sum  from 


1 50  Paris. 

the  rival  singers  and  danseuses,  who  each  paid  him  a  stipend 
annually. 

Of  the  many  good  things  I  have  relished  in  Paris  there  was 
none  I  am  more  inclined  to  extol  than  the  bread.  In  my  inno 
cence  I  thought  that  the  Philadelphia  *  twist'  of  my  boyhood 
could  not  be  surpassed  ;  but  the  superior  lightness  and  whiteness 
of  French  bread  utterly  eclipsed  it.  I  am  speaking  of  the  best 
quality  only;  for  the  ordinary  household  bread,  thtpain  demJnaget 
was  not  especially  entitled  to  praise.  I  was  diverted  by  its  for 
midable  size  ;  for  it  was  made  in  stout  loaves  of  at  least  three  feet 
in  length,  quite  long  enough  for  a  walking-stick  or  a  bludgeon. 
The  butter  was  quite  equal  to  the  famous  pats  of  my  native  town  ; 
but  I  found  it  rather  insipid,  from  the  French  habit  of  not  sea 
soning  it  with  salt. 

There  were  few  things  the  French  held  in  greater  abomination 
than  the  use  of  drugs  of  all  kinds.  Though  little  acquainted  with 
Shakespeare^  they  seemed  to  have  generally  adopted  Macbeth's 
point  of  view, '  throw  physic  to  the  dogs.'  It  was  only  in  extreme 
cases  they  could  be  induced  to  swallow  medicine.  When  indis 
posed  they  universally  resorted  to  the  use  of  tisanes y  which  means  a 
decoction  of  some  simple  herb  or  other,  which  they  drank  hot  to 
provoke  perspiration.  This,  coupled  with  a  rigid  diet,  was  con 
sidered  adequate  for  all  ordinary  cases  of  illness.  France  was 
clearly  not  the  country  where  fortunes  were  likely  to  be  made,  as 
m  the  United  States,  by  the  wholesale  distribution  of  panaceas 
and  elixirs,  which  are  swallowed  with  such  unbounded  confidence 
by  credulous  people. 

At  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Poissonniere,  on  the  boulevard  of 
the  same  name,  there  was  this  inscription  on  the  front  of  a  house, 
*  Limites  de  Paris  en  1726.'  It  was  evident  from  this  that  Paris 
had  grown  considerably  in  the  last  century,  but  scarcely  with 
the  rapidity  of  an  American  town.  It  was  quite  certain  that  in 
the  next  century  it  would  spread  with  far  greater  speed,  and,  from 
present  indications,  on  a  greatly  improved  plan.  The  narrow 
crooked  streets  and  blind  alleys  would  give  way  to  broad  thorough 
fares  and  spacious  avenues,  well  paved,  sewered,  and  lighted. 
In  conclusion,  I  will  add  that  Paris  was  divided  into  twelve  dis 
tricts  or  arrondissements,  each  presided  over  by  a  maire.  The 
fact  that  there  were  but  twelve  gave  rise  to  the  familiar 
phrase  applied  to  a  couple  living  together  without  the  sanction 
of  the  Church,  that  '  they  were  married  in  the  thirteenth  arron- 


Paris.  151 

dissementl — that  is,  not  married  at  all.  The  whole  of  Paris  was 
under  the  administrative  control  of  the  Prefect  of  the  Depart 
ment  of  the  Seine,  who  was  a  functionary  of  great  importancejfond 
occupied  the  H6tel  de  Ville,  one  of  the  finest  palaces  in  Paris. 
He  entertained  with  great  splendour,  and  his  balls  during  the 
winter  were  thronged  by  the  Mite  of  the  official  and  fashionable 
world. 

I  must  not  omit  to  mention  that  on  every  side  abundant  evi 
dence  proved  that  France  was  essentially  a  military  nation.  At 
Havre  I  first  encountered  the  red  trousers  and  short  blue  tunic 
of  the  common  soldier,  to  say  nothing  of  the  officers,  who  seemed 
almost  as  numerous,  with  their  single  or  double  gold  epaulettes  ;. 
and  from  that  day  I  had  never  lost  sight  of  them  for  a  moment. 
In  Paris  they  thronged  the  streets,  crowded  the  cafe's,  overran  the 
theatres,  but  were  rarely  seen  in  the  churches.  Sentinels  were 
pacing  in  every  direction,  regiments  were  constantly  parading 
the  thoroughfares,  and  every  night  drummers  marched  through 
the  town  summoning  the  laggards  home  to  barracks.  All  this 
reminded  me  that  France  was  surrounded  by  great  military 
monarchies,  and  required  a  powerful  army  for  her  protection 
even  when  not  needed  to  gratify  the  warlike  ambition  of  a 
Napoleon, 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ITALY. 

TURIN — GENOA PISA — ROME. 

I  WAS  in  a  somewhat  desponding  mood  when  I  jumped  into  the 
carriage  waiting  at  the  door  to  set  out  on  my  trip  to  Italy.  After 
rattling  on  for  a  few  miles,  the  change  of  scene  and  the  merry 
chat  of  my  companions,  Williams  and  Forrest,  gradually  dissipated 
my  regret  at  parting  with  Paris,  and  I  began  to  take  an  interest 
in  my  new  enterprise.  At  this  bleak  season  there  was  little  to 
divert  me  in  the  landscape.  The  country  was  generally  level,  and 
had  a  bare  and  cheerless  appearance,  unbroken  by  fences,  rarely 
seen  in  France,  and  with  but  few  trees.  Now  and  then  we  passed 
a  forest,  where  men  were  at  work  clipping  and  lopping  superfluous 
branches  for  firewood.  The  villages  we  passed  were  far  from  in 
viting  to  the  eye,  consisting  of  very  old  houses  of  stone,  of  one  or 
two  stories,  many  of  them  covered  with  thatch. 

The  road  was  called  a  route  royale,  and  was  paved  with  square 
blocks  of  stone,  which,  though  well  constructed,  was  rather  rough. 
These  paved  roads  had  descended  from  ancient  Rome,  and  it  was 
strange  that  no  better  model  had  been  yet  attempted  in  France. 
On  either  side  of  the  route  royale  was  the  ordinary  road,  so  fami 
liar  to  my  American  experience,  but  which  at  this  season  of  the 
year  was  muddy  and  heavy. 

As  we  travelled  by  poste,  we  stopped  every  two  leagues  at  the 
post-house  to  change  horses.  On  all  the  high-roads  of  France  was 
established  a  functionary  entitled  the  mattre  des posies,  who  was  re 
quired  to  furnish  relays  of  horses  for  travellers  and  for  the  mail- 
coach.  He  was  paid  a  fixed  sum  of  so  much  per  horse,  yielding  a 
fair  profit.  This  institution  dated  as  far  back  as  Louis  XL,  1464. 
Our  carriage  required  four  horses,  which  were  all  stout  and  strong, 
like  the  breed  of  the  country,  but  roughly  harnessed.  They  were 
bestrode  by  two  postillions,  who  were  quite  picturesque  in  their 
braided  jackets,  leather  breeches,  and  high  topboots,  to  say  no 
thing  of  their  glazed  hats  and  powdered  queues.  This  was  a 
favourite  costume  at  all  the  masked  balls  in  Paris.  These  pos- 


Italy.  153 

tillions  were  wonderfully  expert  with  their  short  whips,  which 
they  rarely  applied  to  their  horses,  but  amused  themselves  with 
cracking  along  the  road  in  a  manner  by  no  means  .unmusical. 
Since  the  creation  of  railways,  the  post-houses  and  all  their  para 
phernalia  have  well-nigh  disappeared. 

As  we  dashed  along  the  highway  we  occasionally  caught 
glimpses  of  some  old  chateau,  built  of  the  white  stone  so  common 
in  France,  with  its  long  straight  avenue  of  formal  stiff-looking 
trees.  In  advancing  south  we  passed  numerous  vineyards,  which 
we  only  recognised  at  this  rude  season  by  the  short  sticks  in  the 
ground  on  which  the  vine  is  trained.  In  fact,  there  was  little  in 
the  wintry  aspect  around  to  justify  the  belief  I  was  travelling 
through  la  belle  France. 

With  short  halts  for  breakfast  and  dinner,  we  pushed  on,  till 
in  three  days  and  nights  we  reached  Lyons.  As  there  was  no 
thing  to  be  seen  here  but  the  famous  silk  manufactures  of  the 
town,  some  of  which  we  visited,  we  resumed  our  journey  next  day, 
and  made  our  way  to  the  rugged  frontiers  of  Savoy. 

We  had  barely  crossed  them  before  we  encountered  those 
myrmidons  of  authority  so  hateful  to  all  travellers,  the  custom 
house  officers,  and  underwent  a  prying  inquisition.  I  was  for 
tunate  enough  to  escape  without  detriment ;  but  my  friend  Wil 
liams  had  to  pay  tribute  in  the  shape  of  a  pair  of  pistols  found 
in  his  luggage,  which  were  declared  contraband,  and  appro 
priated  accordingly.  If  I  could  have  anticipated  all  the  vexation 
I  should  undergo  from  this  source  in  crossing  the  confines  of  the 
numberless  petty  States  into  which  Italy  was  then  divided,  I  think 
I  should  have  been  tempted  to  postpone  my  journey  for  more 
propitious  days. 

On  looking  about  me  as  we  drove  on,  I  could  see  nothing  to 
the  right  or  left  but  mountains  rising  on  every  side,  and  I  came 
rapidly  to  the  conclusion  that  Savoy  contained  little  else  of 
interest.  I  had  previously  come  in  contact  with  some  of  its 
principal  articles  of  exportation,  in  the  shape  of  sturdy  little  boys 
who  frequented  the  streets  of  Paris  with  their  hurdy-gurdies,  and 
I  understood  that  most  of  the  chimney-sweeps  of  the  French 
capital  were  imported  from  the  same  hilly  region,  which  explained 
their  facility  in  climbing.  If  these  sterile  mountains  had  fur 
nished  the  world  with  little  else  than  itinerant  musicians  and  ra- 
moneurs,  at  least  they  could  boast  of  possessing  the  oldest  reign 
ing  dynasty  in  Europe,  dating  from  the  eleventh  century.  It  was 


154  Italy. 

strange  that,  through  all  the  vicissitudes  of  the  Middle  Ages  and 
of  modern  times,  the  same  family  had  continued  to  reign  over  it. 
The  House  of  Savoy  might  be  justly  proud  of  having  retained 
possession  of  their  mountain  throne  for  eight  centuries.  The 
reigning  King,  Charles  Albert,  was  a  lineal  descendant  of  Hum 
bert,  who  was  Count  of  Savoy  in  1027. 

The  day  was  closing  as  we  approached  the  foot  of  Mont 
Ce*nis,  the  famous  road  over  the  Alps,  constructed  by  Napoleon 
in  1805,  and,  adding  three  more  horses  to  our  carriage,  we  began 
the  toilsome  ascent.  We  were  soon  enveloped  in  a  blinding 
snowstorm  appropriate  to  the  region,  and  how  our  guides  could 
pick  their  perilous  way  was  a  mystery.  As  nothing  could  be  dis 
cerned  through  the  opaque  atmosphere,  I  was  obliged  to  take  for 
granted  all  that  had  been  written  of  the  grandeur  of  Alpine 
scenery.  It  was  past  midnight  when  I  was  roused  from  my 
snooze  by  the  pleasant  intelligence  that  we  had  reached  the 
auberge  at  the  summit  of  Mont  Cenis  ;  and  we  gladly  jumped  out 
to  warm  ourselves  at  a  blazing  fire,  and  partake  of  a  bountiful 
supper.  In  an  hour's  time  we  resumed  our  journey,  and  were 
comforted  by  the  fact  that  the  worst  was  over,  and  that  the 
rest  of  our  way  was  all  downhill. 

I  went  to  sleep  again  more  soundly  than  ever,  and  my  last 
recollections  were  of  snow  and  biting  winds.  When  I  opened 
my  eyes  a  couple  of  hours  later  I  thought  I  must  be  dreaming, 
or  that  I  had  been  suddenly  transported  from  the  mountain-top 
plump  into  Paradise.  The  most  enchanting  sights  and  sounds 
encountered  me  at  every  turn — green  fields,  smiling  villages,  placid 
streams,  orange-groves,  the  music  of  birds,  flowers  of  every  hue  ; 
whilst  the  balmy  air  was  scented  with  delicious  odours.  But 
happily  it  was  all  real ;  for  we  had  emerged  from  the  icebound  Alps, 
and  were  galloping  merrily  over  smooth  roads  through  the  lovely 
vale  lying  at  their  base.  The  transformation  was  really  magical, 
and  I  have  never  forgotten  it  We  were  now  in  sunny  Italy,  and 
I  soon  found  that  overcoats  and  mufflers  were  quite  superfluous. 

Before  ten  A.M.  we  drove  into  Turin,  where  we  joyfully  decided 
to  rest  ourselves  for  a  few  days.  We  bade  Antoine,  our  poor  devil 
of  a  courier,  who  for  the  best  part  of  six  days  and  nights  had  been 
perched  on  his  box,  looking  after  the  postillions,  with  only  fitful 
snatches  of  sleep,  to  go  take  his  ease  ;  whilst,  under  the  auspices 
of  a  valet  de  place,  we  devoted  ourselves  to  the  curiosities  of 
Turin. 


Italy.  155 

I  was  vastly  captivated  by  the  beauty  of  this  town,  containing 
some  200,000  inhabitants,  and  it  merits  its  reputation  as  one  of 
the  handsomest  in  Europe.  It  was  none  the  less  attractive  in 
my  eyes  that  in  many  respects  it  reminded  me  of  my  native 
city.  The  streets  were  straight,  running  at  right  angles,  and 
marvellously  clean.  They  were  all  macadamised  and  smooth  as 
a  floor,  which  could  hardly  be  said  of  the  cobble-stone  of  Phila 
delphia.  Many  of  them  were  arcaded,  so  to  speak,  as  the  pave 
ments  ran  under  an  arched  way,  which  was  picturesque,  and 
afforded  a  dry  promenade  in  wet  weather.  The  number  of  large 
open  spaces  called  '  Places,'  adorned  with  imposing  edifices, 
was  another  striking  feature,  surpassing  anything  I  had  seen  in 
Paris. 

I  made  the  rounds  of  all  the  galleries  and  museums  like  a 
conscientious  traveller,  but  nothing  I  saw  indoors  vied  in  attrac 
tion  with  the  many  objects  of  interest  without.  Even  the  picture- 
gallery  itself,  that  was  far  less  rich  in  art  than  the  Louvre,  paled 
before  the  gorgeous  display  of  fruits,  flowers,  and  vegetables  dis 
played  in  the  market-place.  Such  a  sight  at  this  season  of  the 
year  was  alone  worth  scaling  the  Alps  to  witness.  The  Opera- 
house  presented  the  most  striking  interior  I  had  seen.  It  was 
vast  in  circumference,  and  soared  to  an  immense  altitude,  tier 
above  tier.  The  King's  box  in  the  centre  was  imposing  and  bril 
liantly  lit  up.  I  was  glad  of  the  opportunity  to  see  something 
of  the  best  people  of  Turin.  The  beauty  of  the  women  was 
unquestionable,  and  their  toilettes  very  simple.  Between  the  acts 
visits  were  general,  and  I  inferred  the  opera  was  resorted  to 
as  much  for  that  purpose  as  to  hear  the  music.  Talking  was 
kept  up  during  the  recitatives,  and  it  was  only  when  singing 
began  that  silence  was  imposed. 

There  were  several  fine  palaces,  and  that  of  the  King  was  a 
stately  structure.  Charles  Albert  seemed  popular  with  all  classes, 
and  was  especially  the  idol  of  the  army.  Turin  was  swarming 
with  military  men.  In  all  the  streets  and  public  places  they 
abounded.  The  truth  was  the  King  was  an  ambitious  man,  and 
he  gave  great  attention  to  his  army,  with  a  view  to  business  the 
first  favourable  opportunity.  He  knew  that  not  only  his  own 
country,  but  the  whole  of  Italy,  was  ready  to  rise  at  any  moment 
against  the  detested  domination  of  Austria.  Meanwhile,  since 
he  ascended  the  throne  in  1831,  he  had  gone  as  far  in  the 
way  of  reform  as  Austria  would  permit.  He  abolished  the  feudal 


156  Italy. 

system  ;  organised  a  Council  of  State;  ordered  a  civil  and  criminal 
code  to  be  drawn  up  ;  encouraged  agriculture,  industry,  and 
science  ;  above  all,  he  had  put  his  army  on  a  splendid  footing. 
Whether  it  would  ever  turn  out  more  than  an  expensive  toy  was 
hard  to  foretell. 

I  took  my  last  look  at  Turin  from  a  lofty  eminence  in  the 
neighbourhood,  and  a  lovely  sight  it  was.  Long  rows  of  noble 
mansions  lined  the  spacious  avenues  adorned  with  trees  ; 
numerous  public  edifices  of  imposing  architecture,  with  gardens, 
squares,  and  promenades,  rose  on  every  side  ;  a  clear  broad 
river  encircled  the  town,  spanned  by  bridges  of  the  most  grace 
ful  structure ;  whilst  the  gently-sloping  hills  around  gave  token 
of  skilful  culture  ;  and  everywhere  the  landscape  was  dotted 
with  pretty  villas  or  picturesque  convents  and  chapels.  In 
the  distance  the  snowy  summits  of  the  Alps,  half  concealed  in. 
clouds,  looked  serenely  down  on  this  enchanting  spectacle. 
Who  would  think,  in  contemplating  this  selfsame  Turin,  so  fresh 
and  fair,  as  if  born  of  yesterday,  that  it  dated  from  an  origin  so 
remote,  that,  before  the  Christian  era,  it  was  sacked  by  Hanni 
bal,  and  afterwards  embellished  by  Augustus  Caesar  ? 


We  drove  over  a  splendid  road  from  Turin  to  Genoa,  as 
hard  and  smooth  the  whole  way  as  the  surface  of  a  billiard-table. 
After  the  paved  roads  of  France  it  was  positive  luxury.  The 
only  sensation  I  experienced  on  the  way  was  passing  a  series  of 
level  plains  of  great  extent,  which  I  discovered  to  be  the  site  of 
the  battle  of  Marengo,  fought  in  June  1800.  It  was  here  that 
Napoleon  signalised  his  accession  to  power,  as  First  Consul,  by 
a  great  victory  over  the  Austrians.  Concealing  his  plan  of  cam 
paign,  he  set  out  with  his  army,  and  suddenly  crossed  the  Alps 
by  the  pass  of  the  Grand  St.  Bernard — a  prodigious  feat — and 
fell  unexpectedly  on  the  Austrians  bivouacked  in  the  smiling 
plains  around  Alessandria. 

I  awoke  from  a  pleasant  nap  about  3  A.M.,  just  when  a  sudden 
curve  of  the  road  brought  the  placid  surface  of  the  Mediterranean 
into  view,  basking  in  the  bright  beams  of  the  moon.  I  gazed  for 
the  first  time  on  this  lovely  sea  with  deep  interest,  associated  as 
it  was  with  so  many  thrilling  events  from  the  very  dawn  of  his 
tory.  Soon  afterwards  the  shouting  of  our  postillions  awoke  the 
sleeping  warders  of  the  gates  of  Genoa,  and  we  soon  commenced 


Italy.  157 

ascending  the  steep  winding  streets  of  this  famous  old  town. 
At  this  early  hour  it  was  hushed  in  profound  repose.  No  living 
thing  was  seen  ;  no  sound  disturbed  the  universal  stillness. 
How  impressive  is  the  sight  of  a  great  town  plunged  in  sleep — 
'  sleep,  the  death  of  each  day's  life' !  What  a  contrast  did  this 
silence,  these  noiseless  streets,  these  mute  palaces,  whose  marble 
fagades  sparkled  in  the  moonlight,  present  to  the  uproars,  the 
broils,  the  clash  of  arms,  that  for  centuries  had  characterised  the 
factious  career  of  Genoa !  But  there  was  a  recollection  con 
nected  with  Genoa  that  predominated  the  rest.  It  was  here  that 
one  of  the  greatest  men  of  history  drew  his  first  breath.  It  was 
here  that  Columbus,  abjuring  the  unpretending  craft  of  his 
father,  gave  himself  up  to  the  study  of  all  that  was  known  of 
geography  and  astronomy  at  that  day  ;  and  it  was  here,  after 
the  conviction  seized  upon  him  that  a  new  world  existed  beyond 
the  seas,  that  his  entreaties  for  means  to  discover  it  were  received 
with  jeers,  which  finally  drove  him  away  to  confer  on  Spain  the 
glory  of  verifying  his  predictions.  We  saluted  as  we  passed 
the  statue  that  scoffing  Genoa  had  since  raised  to  his  honour. 
On  reaching  our  hotel,  we  quickly  sought  our  beds,  but  not 
before  drinking  to  the  memory  of  Columbus,  who  had  disco 
vered  us. 

Genoa  is  renowned  above  all  for  her  palaces,  that  are  unsur 
passed  in  Europe.  Rising  in  an  amphitheatre  from  the  sea,  the 
finest  sites  are  afforded  for  the  many  imposing  edifices  of  this 
beautiful  city.  We  devoted  several  days  to  the  inspection  of 
wondrous  structures  that  were  especially  rich  in  the  fine  marbles 
of  the  district. 

Of  all  the  palaces  that  of  the  Seria  was  one  of  the  most  strik 
ing.  Besides  its  numerous  apartments  of  extraordinary  beauty, 
adorned  with  pictures  and  statuary,  it  was  especially  famous  for 
a  saloon  of  grand  dimensions,  on  which  a  fabulous  sum  had  been 
expended.  The  gilding  was  profuse,  and  all  in  solid  gold.  The 
walls  were  covered  with  vast  mirrors  extending  from  floor  to 
ceiling.  The  dome,  painted  with  rare  skill,  was  supported  by 
numerous  Corinthian  columns  of  marble.  Niches  were  decked 
with  vases  of  finest  porcelain  and  busts  of  purest  Carrara.  Nu 
merous  chandeliers  of  sparkling  crystal  and  exquisite  workman 
ship  imparted  additional  lustre  to  the  gorgeous  decorations  of 
this  sumptuous  hall.  The  eye  at  last  grew  weary  of  its  excessive 
richness. 


158  Italy. 

In  wandering  through  the  palace,  which  I  thought  was  un 
occupied,  I  observed  in  the  corner  of  one  of  these  fairy  apart 
ments  an  old  man  dressed  in  black  velvet,  with  long  gray  locks, 
bending  over  a  brazier  of  live  coals.  The  noise  of  our  steps 
attracted  his  attention,  and  he  raised  his  head.  I  was  struck  by 
the  lack  of  expression  in  the  eyes  and  the  dull  look  of  the  face- 
I  was  told  he  was  the  owner  of  this  grand  palace,  but  had  fallen 
into  dotage,  and  was  wholly  unconscious  of  the  magnificence 
that  environed  him.  His  sole  occupation  was  to  keep  warm, 
and  his  whole  happiness  consisted  in  hanging  over  a  pan  of 
coals.  It  was  a  piteous  spectacle  to  see  the  possessor  of  all 
these  treasures  helpless  and  imbecile,  craving  for  no  more  than 
would  content  the  meanest  mendicant.  '  Take  physic,  Pomp/  at 
such  a  sight  as  this. 

Certainly  one  of  the  greatest  curiosities  of  Genoa  was  the 
bank  of  St.  George,  whose  records  dated  back  to  1407,  nearly 
thirty  years  before  Columbus  was  born.  This  was  the  oldest 
bank  of  Europe,  after  that  of  Venice. 

Many  of  the  streets  of  Genoa  were  very  precipitous,  and 
required  care  to  descend  in  safety.  As  we  stood  on  the  brow 
of  one  of  these  sharp  declivities,  my  fellow-traveller  Forrest 
pointed  to  a  man  collecting  the  horse-manure,  an  industry  of 
the  place,  and,  throwing  himself  into  a  theatrical  attitude,  he 
paraphrased  some  lines  in  King  Lear  : 

'  Half-way  down 
Hangs  one  that  gathers  dung — dreadful  trade  !' 

For  Shakespeare's  word  of  '  samphire'  he  substituted  the  one 
given,  and  the  application  was  so  apt  as  to  be  amusing. 

Of  all  the  attractions  of  Genoa  nothing  charmed  me  more 
than  its  beautiful  hanging  gardens  filled  with  every  variety  of 
fruits  and  flowers.  It  is  noteworthy  that  since  Genoa  was 
annexed  by  the  Congress  of  Vienna  in  1814  to  the  dominions  of 
the  King  of  Sardinia,  it  had  obtained  in  exchange  for  its  former 
fitful  sovereignty  an  era  of  good  order  and  prosperity  it  had 
never  known  before. 


We  decided  to  push  on  direct  to  Rome,  the  great  centre  of 
attraction,  and  to  take  Florence  on  our  return  by  the  Perugia 
road.  Accordingly,  in  leaving  Genoa,  our  route  lay  between  the 
lovely  Mediterranean  on  the  right,  and  countless  groves  of 


Italy.  159 

orange  and  lemon  and  luscious  vineyards  on  the  left.  I  shall 
always  retain  the  souvenir  of  the  beauty  of  this  road. 

Pisa  was  too  full  of  seduction  not  to  bring  us  to  a  halt  for  a 
couple  of  days.  That  prodigy  of  architectural  skill,  its  leaning 
tower,  was  alone  worth  it.  Who  could  imagine,  in  contemplating 
this  wonderful  relic,  that  it  had  '  braved  the  battle  and  the  breeze' 
for  some  six  hundred  years,  and  that,  besides  resisting  the  cor 
roding  hand  of  time,  it  had  escaped  all  harm  from  the  number 
less  combats  and  sieges  that  constituted  the  normal  history  of 
Italian  towns,  even  from  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  ?  One 
proof  that  Pisa  was  second  to  none  in  pugnacity  is  the  simple 
fact,  that  she  carried  on  a  war  with  Genoa  for  the  small  space  of 
two  centuries,  which  ended  at  last  in  her  defeat.  In  the  bitter 
conflicts  of  the  Guelphs  and  Ghibellines  she  espoused  the 
German  side,  and  suffered  terribly  from  the  national  party. 

During  these  centuries  of  war,  the  only  thing  in  Pisa  which 
always  drooped  its  head,  but  never  experienced  any  damage  at  the 
hands  of  victor  or  vanquished,  was  that  marvellous  tower,  which  is 
as  solid  and  beautiful  as  at  the  close  of  the  twelfth  century,  when 
it  first  attracted  pilgrims  to  behold  it.  Apart  from  its  antiquity,  it- 
had  even  a  greater  charm  in  my  eyes,  as  it  was  from  the  top  of 
this  identical  structure  that  Galileo,  a  native  of  this  town,  made 
his  youthful  experiments,  in  the  sixteenth  century,  to  ascertain 
the  laws  which  governed  falling  bodies.  It  was  in  a  church  too, 
near  by,  that  did  not  escape  my  homage,  that  this  wonderful  man 
observed  the  regular  oscillations  of  a  suspended  lamp,  and  which 
led  to  his  invaluable  invention  of  the  clock  with  pendulum  and 
weights.  This,  with  his  other  marvellous  conceptions,  including 
the  thermometer  and  the  telescope,  entitled  him  more  justly  to 
his  crown  of  immortality  than  his  mere  confirmation  of  the  dis 
covery  of  Copernicus,  that  the  earth  moved  round  the  sun.  It  is 
singular,  the  undying  halo  thrown  by  genius  of  the  highest  type 
over  all  connected  with  it.  Genoa  and  Pisa,  the  homes  of  Co 
lumbus  and  Galileo,  left  impressions  on  my  mind  more  indelible 
than  all  'the  cloud-capped  towers,  the  gorgeous  palaces,  the 
solemn  temples'  that  I  encountered. 


After  brief  stoppages  at  the  notable  places  en  route,  we  drove 
one  pleasant  evening  in  early  March  into  Rome,  the  whilom 
mistress  of  the  then  known  world.  My  sensations  on  driving 


160  Italy. 

through  the  streets  of  this  ancient  city  were  something  indescrib 
able.  I  may  say  I  lived  near  three  thousand  years  in  as  many 
seconds,  for  the  whole  history  of  this  renowned  capital,  its  gran 
deur  and  its  vicissitudes,  flashed  rapidly  across  my  mind.  Its 
long  array  of  great  men — its  kings,  consuls,  and  emperors  ;  its 
generals,  senators,  and  demagogues — all  seemed  to  stalk  before 
the  eye  of  memory,  to  '  come  like  shadows,  so  depart.'  No  one 
could  have  spent  eight  consecutive  years  poring  over  Latin  books, 
as  I  had  been  obliged  to  do — the  works  of  Roman  historians, 
orators,  and  poets — without  becoming  very  familiar  with  the  men 
and  events  associated  with  the  career  of  this  immortal  metropolis. 
Yet  when  I  thought  of  the  Rome  whose  banner  had  once  waved 
from  the  Atlantic  to  the  Euphrates,  whose  legions  had  marched 
forth  from  her  thirty-seven  gates,  and  contrasted  it  with  the  exist 
ing  city  and  its  200,000  inhabitants,  I  was  tempted  to  exclaim, 

'  Shrine  of  the  mighty  !  can  it  be 
That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  !' 

Rome,  after  all,  is  but  a  mausoleum,  and  her  Coliseum,  arches, 
columns,  aqueducts,  even  her  Cloaca  Maxima,  2300  years  old,  are 
but  so  many  monuments  of  her  great  dead,  who  lie  buried  beneath 
the  weight  of  so  many  ages.  A  confused  mass  of  recollections  and 
reveries  like  these  quite  absorbed  me  whilst  twisting  and  turning 
through  endless  narrow  lanes  and  alleys,  till  at  last  we  emerged 
on  the  open  square  where  our  hotel  was  situated. 

I  devoted  several  weeks  to  Rome  and  its  wonders,  ancient 
and  modern,  but  I  will  not  attempt  to  catalogue  the  marvellous 
contents  of  this  treasure-house  of  the  world.  Without  stopping 
to  comment,  therefore,  on  the  masses  of  imposing  ruin  that  rise 
on  every  side,  I  will  single  out,  as  perhaps  the  most  striking  of  all, 
that  stupendous  monument  of  imperial  splendour  the  Coliseum. 
This  immense  edifice  is  still  in  remarkable  preservation,  dating 
as  it  does  from  80  A.D.  Gibbon  describes  it  as  *  a  building  of  an 
elliptic  figure,  564  feet  in  length,  467  in  breadth,  and  140  in 
height.'  Its  exterior  was  faced  with  marble  and  adorned  with 
statues.  The  interior  was  occupied  with  eighty  rows  of  seats, 
and  accommodated  over  eighty  thousand  spectators.  It  was  in 
this  vast  amphitheatre  that  the  combats  of  the  gladiators  took 
place, 

'  Butchered  to  make  a  Roman  holiday.' 

But,  more  revolting  still,  it  was  in  this  bloody  arena  that  the  early 


Italy.  1 6  f 

Christian  martyrs  were  torn  in  pieces  by  wild  beasts,  to  the  in 
finite  delight  of  applauding  multitudes.  As  I  stood  in  this  vast 
solitude,  now  only  disturbed  by  the  hum  of  insects,  and  thought 
of  the  terrible  scenes  of  slaughter  that  the  Roman  crowd  once 
hurried  with  alacrity  to  witness,  my  mind  sickened,  and  I 
thanked  Heaven  that  such  barbaric  ferocity  had  disappeared 
from  the  world. 

Of  the  more  modern  structures,  nothing  in  Rome  compares 
with  the  church  of  St.  Peter's.  No  religion  that  ever  existed 
raised  such  a  temple  to  the  Deity  worshipped.  This  magnificent 
fabric  owes  everything  to  the  genius  of  Michael  Angelo,  equally 
renowned  as  painter,  sculptor,  and  architect.  It  was  forty  years 
after  the  foundation  had  been  laid,  in  1506,  and  when  Angelo  was 
already  seventy-two,  that  he  was  invested  by  Pope  Paul  III.  with 
plenary  powers  over  the  construction  of  St.  Peter's.  He  at  once 
reformed  all  the  plans  of  his  predecessors,  and  drew  up  the  incom 
parable  designs  that  were  afterwards  carried  out.  He  never 
abandoned  his  task  till  he  died,  eighteen  years  later,  and  did  not 
witness,  therefore,  the  completion  of  that  wonder  of  modern  ar 
chitecture,  the  dome,  undoubtedly  the  most  majestic  in  the  world. 
Byron's  lines  to  a  beautiful  woman  describe  it  well.  It  is  indeed 

'  A  form  of  life  and  light, 
That,  seen,  becomes  a  part  of  sight, 
And  rose  where'er  I  turned  mine  eye.' 

The  first  time  I  entered  this  church  I  was  really  overwhelmed 
by  its  vastness  and  magnificence.  I  visited  it  again  and  again,  but 
never  recovered  from  its  overpowering  grandeur.  There  are  two 
things  in  the  world  that  defy  description — St.  Peter's  and  Niagara 
Falls.  In  these  two  marvels  man  and  Nature  seem  to  contend 
for  the  supremacy.  The  churches  in  Rome,  estimated  at  three 
hundred,  eclipsed  all  rivalry,  and  yet,  after  St.  Peter's,  they  seemed 
comparatively  insignificant.  It  would  be  a  bewildering  task  to 
indicate  even  the  most  memorable  paintings  that  filled  the  gal 
leries,  palaces,  and  studios  of  Rome. 

The  statuary  of  the  Vatican  contains  gems  nowhere  else  to 
be  seen,  and  of  these  the  Laocoon  and  the  Apollo  Belvidere  are 
unquestionably  the  most  imposing.  Both  these  exquisite  pieces 
of  sculpture  are  the  work  of  Greek  hands,  who  were  never  equalled 
by  the  Romans  in  expression,  beauty,  or  power.  The  Laocoon 
was  executed  by  three  artists  of  Rhodes,  in  the  reign  of  Titus, 
79  A.D.,  and  disappeared  from  view  for  centuries.  It  was  not  dis- 

M 


T  6  2  Italy. 

covered  till  1506,  when  it  was  dug  up  from  the  ruins  of  the  baths 
of  Titus  at  Rome.  The  Apollo,  universally  regarded  as  the  type 
of  manly  beauty,  was  found  in  1503  among  the  ruins  of  Antium, 
an  ancient  city  to  the  south-west  of  Rome.  Milman  thus  apostro 
phises  it : 

'  And  the  cold  marble  leapt  to  life  a  god, 
Too  fair  to  worship,  too  divine  to  love.' 

Busy  as  I  was  in  meditating  over  the  antiquities  of  ancient 
Rome,  my  attention  was  none  the  less  attracted  to  the  actual 
condition  of  things  by  the  swarming  droves  of  priests,  monks, 
and  friars  that  thronged  its  modern  streets.  I  was  constantly 
reminded  that  this  was  the  head-quarters  of  Catholic  Christen 
dom,  and  the  soldiers  of  the  Cross,  in  every  imaginable  uniform, 
were  on  the  go,  not  singly  merely,  but  in  battalions,  the  live 
long  day,  and  no  small  portion  of  the  night.  The  roadways  were 
constantly  filled  with  religious  processions,  whilst  frequently  one 
of  a  more  sacred  character  obliged  all  passers-by,  whether  on  foot 
or  in  carriages,  to  stop  and  uncover  whilst  it  '  dragged  its  slow 
length  along.'  With  no  prejudice  against  the  Catholic  religion 
and  its  imposing  ceremonial,  I  could  not  help  feeling  shocked 
at  the  divers  forms  of  superstition  that  abounded  on  every  side, 
and  which  would  have  been  pitiable  if  sincere  ;  but  it  partook  of 
the  ridiculous  from  the  abundant  proofs  that  it  was  a  mere  mat 
ter  of  form  and  usage. 

I  observed  one  day  a  wooden  staircase  leading  into  a  church 
that  was  covered  with  people,  generally  of  the  lower  class,  all 
hard  at  work  ascending  it  on  their  knees.  The  tradition  ran  that 
somewhere  in  Asia  Minor  Christ  had  ascended  these  stairs,  which 
were  afterwards  brought  to  Rome,  and  deposited  in  their  present 
position.  Few  believed  this  apocryphal  story  ;  but  every  day 
crowds  were  slowly  crawling  up  the  sacred  steps,  and  thinking 
themselves  all  the  holier  for  the  feat.  Images  of  the  Virgin,  or 
of  the  crucifixion,  stared  you  in  the  face  at  every  turn  ;  and  to 
pass  one  without  salutation  was  an  offence,  and  compelled  you 
almost  to  carry  your  hat  in  your  hand.  I  soon  came  to  the 
conclusion  that  if  there  was  a  priest-ridden  community  in  the 
world,  it  was  Rome  in  the  year  1835. 

Nor  could  it  be  wondered  at ;  for  it  was  the  capital  of  the 
States  of  the  Church,  which  consisted  of  a  narrow  strip  of  terri 
tory  hemmed  in  on  the  north  by  Tuscany,  on  the  south  by  the 
kingdom  of  Naples,  and  on  the  east  and  west  by  the  Adriatic 


Italy.  1 63 

and  the  Mediterranean,  comprising  some  three  millions  of  inha 
bitants.  Over  these  happy  mortals  his  Holiness  Gregory  XVI. 
exercised  not  only  spiritual  sway  as  the  successor  of  St.  Peter, 
but  despotic  rule  as  a  temporal  prince.  From  the  year  34 
A.D.,  the  Bishops  of  Rome  were  invested  simply  with  spiritual 
authority  over  the  Christian  Church  down  to  the  eighth  century, 
when  Pepin,  King  of  the  Franks,  made  a  present  to  the  Pontiff 
of  that  day  of  a  patch  of  territory,  which  was  enlarged  by  Charle 
magne,  son  of  Pepin.  Further  additions  were  made  by  Matilda, 
Countess  of  Tuscany,  in  1077. 

Over  this  small  domain  the  Papal  Government  was  absolute. 
What  the  Pope  willed  was  law.  There  was  no  domination  on 
earth  parallel  to  his  ;  for  he  domineered  not  merely  over  the 
bodies  of  his  subjects,  but  carried  their  souls  in  the  palm  of  his 
hand. 

As  spiritual  sovereign  he  wielded  uncontested  authority  over 
the  Roman  Catholic  Church  ;  saw  that  its  canons  or  rules  were 
observed,  assembled  councils,  named  the  Cardinals,  instituted 
Bishops,  established  or  suppressed  all  religious  orders,  watched 
over  the  maintenance  of  dogmas  and  discipline,  approved  or 
condemned  doctrines,  published  bulls  and  encyclicals,  pronounced 
canonisations,  proclaimed  or  removed  excommunications,  ac 
corded  indulgences,  signed  concordats. 

Whilst,  as  temporal  sovereign,  he  governed  absolutely  the 
city  of  Rome  and  the  States  of  the  Church,  appointed  to  all 
foreign  Governments  Legates  or  Nuncios,  who  represented  him 
in  his  double  capacity.  As  emblematic  of  his  triple  character  as 
head  of  the  Church,  Bishop  of  Rome,  and  a  temporal  prince, 
the  Pope  wore  a  triple  tiara.  He  carried  in  his  hands  a  key  of 
gold  and  a  key  of  silver,  called  '  the  keys  of  St.  Peter,'  as  a 
symbol  of  his  power  to  lock  or  unlock,  to  do  or  undo,  what  may 
seem  fit  for  the  good  of  the  Church.  The  Papacy  is  elective,  and 
has  long  been  so.  Originally  the  Popes  were  elected  by  the 
clergy  and  people  of  Rome;  but  in  1274  Gregory  X.  ordered 
the  elections  thereafter  to  be  made  by  the  College  of  Cardinals 
assembled  in  conclave,  a  vote  of  two-thirds  to  decide.  Nearly 
all  the  functionaries  of  the  Government,  political  and  adminis 
trative,  were  ecclesiastics. 

At  the  time  of  my  visit  Gregory  XVI.  was  in  the  chair  of 
St.  Peter.  He  was  a  priest  of  great  learning,  but  a  stanch 
defender  of  his  authority.  He  would  listen  to  no  innovations 


164  Italy. 

in  the  way  of  reform,  and  no  Pope  of  the  Middle  Ages  was 
more  absolute.  Gregory  was  partial  to  the  order  of  the  Jesuits, 
and  stimulated  their  zeal  in  all  the  countries  where  he  employed 
them. 

In  spite  of  Papal  despotism,  the  Romans  were  allowed  freely 
to  indulge  in  amusement  after  their  fancy.  Theatres  and  operas 
flourished  ;  balls  public  and  private,  both  fancy  and  masked,  were 
popular  ;  and  in  the  way  of  vice  there  was  a  fair  average  to  be 
found  in  this  most  saintly  of  cities.  Beggary  and  brigandage 
were  allowed  free  scope,  and  there  were  few  of  the  evils  that 
spring  from  human  passions  of  which  Rome  could  boast  herself 
exempt.  I  was  fortunate  in  finding  myself  there  during  the  last 
days  of  the  Carnival,  and  the  sport  that  prevailed  was  novel  as 
amusing.  In  the  afternoon  of  each  day  the  fashionable  street  of 
Rome,  the  Corso,  was  lined  on  both  sides  with  carriages  occupied 
by  persons  in  masks  and  arrayed  in  dominoes  of  all  colours. 
The  balconies  of  the  houses  were  filled  by  people  similarly  cos 
tumed,  and  the  fun  consisted  in  throwing  down  upon  the  carriage- 
folk  handfuls  of  small  plaster  pellets,  which  were  responded  to 
in  kind  from  them.  Now  and  then  a  bushel-basket  of  these 
missiles  would  be  emptied  on  the  devoted  heads  of  those  below, 
almost  suffocating  and  blinding  them,  to  the  great  delight  of  the 
spectators,  who  applauded  uproariously.  Childish  as  was  this 
diversion,  our  party  engaged  in  it  with  great  zest ;  and  it  amused 
me  not  a  little  to  see  Forrest,  who  was  associated  in  my  mind 
with  all  sorts  of  heroic  characters  on  the  stage,  utterly  absorbed 
in  this  rather  undignified  pastime.  His  theory  was  evidently, 
,  in  Rome  to  do  as  the  Romans  did/ 

More  than  once  during  my  stay  I  observed  processions  of 
boys  moving  about  the  streets  attired  in  a  peculiar  garb,  and, 
on  asking  my  guide  who  they  were,  was  told  they  were  the 
natural  sons  of  the  priests,  and  were  being  educated  for  the 
Church.  I  had  no  authority  for  the  story  but  my  valet  de place; 
but  if  true,  it  was  conclusive  proof  that  celibacy  is  no  check  on 
human  frailty,  even  when  disguised  in  a  black  soutane^  and  sur 
mounted  by  a  broad  shovel-hat 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

ITALY  (continued}. 

NAPLES — POMPEII VESUVIUS FLORENCE — VENICE — MILAN. 

AFTER  four  weeks  in  Rome,  which  required  as  many  months  to 
investigate  thoroughly,  we  set  off  for  Naples,  and  started  well 
armed,  as  reports  were  daily  circulating  of  robberies  on  the  road, 
always  infested  by  swarms  of  brigands,  who  preyed  especially  on 
English  travellers.  Just  the  day  before  we  left,  an  English 
family  had  been  stopped  on  the  Pontine  Marshes,  and  despoiled 
of  baggage  and  jewelry,  but  not  otherwise  harmed.  We  crossed 
this  desolate  region  by  daylight,  which,  owing  to  the  malaria  that 
rises  from  its  stagnant  pools,  is  wholly  uninhabited,  and,  there 
fore,  a  favourite  resort  for  highwaymen.  Though  on  the  qui  vive 
for  an  encounter,  we  reached  Terracina  in  safety,  and  stopped  for 
dinner. 

Our  courier  and  postillions  were  dismayed  at  our  intention 
to  continue  our  journey  during  the  night,  and  represented  the 
route  as  far  more  dangerous.  We  suspected  it  was  rather  the 
loss  of  their  beds  than  fear  of  a  fight  with  the  brigands  that 
induced  them  to  protest  so  loudly,  and,  as  the  moon  was  shining 
brightly,  we  defied  the  risk  and  went  on.  Portions  of  the  road 
wound  through  narrow  gorges,  between  hills  well  wooded  or 
covered  with  shrubbery,  very  favourable  for  a  nocturnal  attack  ; 
but  it  was  evident  that  we  were  not  the  sort  of  prize  the  brigands 
fancied,  and  we  reached  Naples  next  morning  unmolested, 
though  perhaps  a  little  disappointed  we  had  met  no  adventure 
worth  recording. 

I  was  charmed  with  the  aspect  of  Naples,  that  looked  so 
bright  and  cheerful  after  Rome.  Its  well-paved  cleanly  streets, 
its  lofty  houses,  stuccoed  in  white  plaster,  the  numberless  balco 
nies,  and  many  striking  edifices,  all  had  a  gay  appearance,  and 
impressed  me  favourably.  But  when,  after  dinner,  I  strolled 
down  to  the  public  gardens,  adorned  with  fountains  and  statuary, 
running  for  half  a  mile  on  the  margin  of  its  celebrated  Bay,  one 


1 66  Italy. 

of  the  great  sights  of  Europe,  I  was  filled  with  delight,  and  ad 
mitted  I  had  seen  nothing  as  yet  half  so  beautiful.  More  frequent 
inspections  of  this  renowned  feature,  however,  brought  me  to  the 
conclusion  that,  for  natural  advantages,  it  was  less  striking  than 
its  rival  of  New  York,  which  can  boast  of  two  magnificent  rivers 
to  enhance  its  charms.  Those  who  have  never  seen  the  latter 
are  sure  to  lose  their  hearts  with  the  Bay  of  Naples,  which,  be 
sides  its  natural  attractions,  is  invested  with  the  prestige  of  ages 
of  history. 

For  several  days  I  devoted  myself  to  the  treasures  of  the 
Museo  Borbonico,  which  is  regarded  as  the  most  wonderful  repo 
sitory  of  art  and  curiosities  in  the  world.  The  marvellous  collec 
tion  of  interesting  objects  from  Pompeii  affected  me  more  pro 
foundly  than  anything  I  had  ever  witnessed.  Here  were  relics,  in 
the  greatest  profusion,  of  a  civilisation  that  had  existed  near 
eighteen  hundred  years  ago,  and  many  of  them  as  fresh  as  though 
of  yesterday.  But  what  astonished  me  most  was  the  similarity 
between  many  of  these  articles  and  those  now  in  common  use. 
This  was  especially  the  case  with  kitchen  utensils,  which,  for  con 
venience  and  skilful  construction,  might  vie  with  anything  now 
known.  Amongst  them  were  cooking-stoves  that  a  French  chef 
would  eagerly  covet  Besides  a  splendid  assortment  of  jewelry, 
such  as  bracelets,  earrings,  clasps,  and  finger-rings,  there  were  a 
multitude  of  articles  perfectly  familiar,  as  weights  and  measures, 
steelyards,  a  simple  apparatus  for  striking  time,  circular  tables  of 
marble,  even  needles  and  thread.  I  remarked  an  instrument  of 
punishment  resembling  the  stocks  once  used  in  England,  and 
two  skeletons  fastened  by  the  feet  were  found  with  it.  Busts  in 
bronze  and  statues  in  marble,  with  cinerary  urns  of  all  sizes,  filled 
several  rooms. 

In  an  apartment  where  special  permission  was  required  was 
an  exhibition  of  statuary  and  painting  of  a  very  licentious  descrip 
tion,  proving  that  the  morals  of  Pompeii  were  none  of  the  best. 

I  know  not  how  others  may  have  been  affected,  but  nothing 
ever  moved  me  to  such  a  degree  as  the  contemplation  of  these 
thrilling  vestiges  of  antiquity,  that  had  lain  unknown  and  unsus 
pected  in  the  earth  for  seventeen  centuries, — lost  absolute 
ly.  It  was  only  in  1689  that  some  accidental  discoveries  led  to  the 
supposition  that  the  site  of  ancient  Pompeii  might  possibly  be 
found  ;  but  it  was  not  till  1765  that  any  active  investigations  were 
undertaken.  Since  then  they  have  been  followed  up  with  more 


Italy.  1 67 

or  less  zeal,  and  the  results  have  been  rich  beyond  hope  or  ex 
pectation.  Nearly  half  of  the  buried  city  is  supposed  to  have  been 
disinterred  ;  and  the  revelations  thus  afforded  of  the  usages,  the 
public  and  private  life,  of  the  ancients,  their  architecture,  furni 
ture,  adornments,  and  arts,  are  invaluable  beyond  precedent. 


The  engrossing  survey  of  these  marvels  for  several  days  only 
whetted  my  appetite  to  see  the  disentombed  city ;  and  I  drove 
there  one  morning,  some  fifteen  miles  from  Naples,  with  my 
heart  palpitating  at  the  sight  that  awaited  me.  It  would  be  idle 
to  describe  my  sensations  as  I  wandered  spellbound  through  the 
silent  streets  of  unfortunate  Pompeii.  It  was  no  less  strange 
than  impressive  to  find  a  town  with  its  thoroughfares,  shops,, 
houses,  and  public  edifices  wholly  unoccupied,  as  though  sud 
denly  abandoned  at  the  approach  of  an  enemy  or  from  fear  of 
a  pestilence.  The  roadways  gave  indication  of  heavy  traffic 
from  the  deep  ruts  cut  in  the  stone.  It  was  easy  to  recognise 
some  of  the  shops,  as  the  jars  were  still  standing  where  oil  was 
sold,  and  the  ovens  of  the  bakers  were  in  perfect  condition. 
Some  of  the  houses  of  the  rich  were  commodious  and  beautiful, 
with  an  open  court  in  the  centre,  adorned  with  fountains  similar 
to  those  existing  in  Seville.  Many  of  the  apartments  were  richly 
ornamented  with  fresco-paintings  admirably  executed,  and  in 
wonderful  preservation.  Large  pieces  of  ground  surrounded 
several  of  the  dwellings,  used  doubtless  for  gardens. 

Among  the  public  buildings,  the  most  striking  and  the  most 
perfect  was  the  amphitheatre — not  a  stone  injured,  not  an  entrance 
impaired.  There  it  stood,  as  though  ready  for  the  audience  to- 
assemble  and  the  games  to  commence  ;  but  the  dens  of  the  lions 
were  empty,  and  the  rooms  of  the  gladiators  deserted.  The 
brothels  were  made  conspicuous  by  the  indecent  emblems  carved 
over  the  doorways,  demonstrating  that  the  manners  of  that  day 
were  much  coarser  than  now.  It  was  not  difficult,  as  I  gazed 
upon  the  remains  of  this  once  gay  and  populous  city,  to  recall  in 
imagination  the  day  of  the  catastrophe,  and  to  conjure  up  the 
scenes  of  terror  that  must  have  ensued.  These  streets  and  tene 
ments,  now  so  forsaken,  were  crowded  in  that  dreadful  hour  with 
panic-stricken  thousands,  all  struggling  to  flee  from  the  terrible 
fate  that  menaced  them.  Who  escaped  is  not  recorded,  but  those 
who  perished  were  all,  after  long  centuries  of  immurement,  found 


168  Italy. 

in  the  places  and  in  the  attitudes  where  death  overtook  them. 
At  a  garden-gate  was  disinterred  a  man  with  a  bag  of  gold  in  his 
hand,  whose  cupidity  possibly  cost  him  his  life.  Not  more  than 
some  three  hundred  skeletons  had  been  discovered  up  to  this 
time,  which  would  lead  to  the  supposition  that  most  of  the  in 
habitants  escaped. 

In  the  year  63  A.D.,  Pompeii  was  much  damaged  by  an  earth 
quake,  the  forerunner  of  the  greater  disaster  that  occurred  only  six 
teen  years  later ;  for  in  79  A.D.  it  was  completely  swallowed  up 
by  a  seething  mass  of  volcanic  matter  that  suddenly  rushed  down 
the  sides  of  Mount  Vesuvius,  six  miles  distant  It  seems  to  be  a 
settled  point  that  Pompeii  was  not  buried  in  lava.  The  excava 
tions  show  that  the  stratum  of  earth  covering  the  town  is  of  a  fine 
friable  quality,  bearing  no  resemblance  to  lava.  It  is  supposed 
that  it  was  overwhelmed  in  a  boiling  sea  of  mud — a  mixture  of 
hot  water  and  ashes — similar  to  that  thrown  up  by  a  volcano  in 
Java  in  1822.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  evident  that  Hercu- 
laneum  was  destroyed  by  lava,  which  to  this  day  continues  so 
hard  as  to  require  great  efforts  to  break  it.  As  Pompeii  and 
Herculaneum  are  both  stated  to  have  been  demolished  on  the 
same  day,  it  must  be  concluded  that  one  crater  of  Mount  Vesu 
vius  emitted  the  compound  of  water  and  ashes  just  mentioned, 
whilst  another  ejected  lava — phenomena  by  no  means  incom 
patible. 

Whilst  my  mind  was  still  full  of  Pompeii  and  its  fearful 
doom,  I  determined  to  ascend  Mount  Vesuvius,  and  set  off  the 
following  day  to  achieve  it  Leaving  our  carriage  at  Portici,  five 
miles  distant,  we  mounted  donkeys,  gathered  there  in  droves, 
and  began  our  journey  upwards.  After  an  hour's  exertions  we 
reached  the  '  Hermitage,'  as  it  is  named — a  small  stone  house 
occupied  by  a  solitary  tenant,  whose  chief  business  seems  to  be 
to  keep  a  record  of  travellers'  names,  and  to  supply  them  with 
lachryma  Christi,  a  renowned  wine  made  of  the  grapes  of  this 
district.  I  quaffed  the  beverage,  but  found  the  sample  far  inferior 
to  other  wines  of  the  country  that  I  had  tasted.  Returning  to  our 
donkeys,  we  began  to  climb  anew,  but  the  way  grew  more  difficult 
as  we  advanced.  We  were  now  surrounded  by  vast  fields  of 
black  lava,  the  product  of  an  eruption  six  months  previous.  In 
one  place  it  was  spread  out  in  small  mounds,  and  in  others  it 
was  piled  up  in  fantastically  shaped  masses.  Nothing  could  be 


Italy.  169 

more  desolate  and  weird  than  the  region  around.  At  length 
our  jaded  beasts  refused  to  go  further,  and  we  dismounted,  to 
finish  the  ascension  on  foot. 

The  mountain  now  became  almost  vertical,  and  was  covered 
with  a  thick  coating  of  dark  ashes  that  gave  way  at  every  step, 
making  our  task  toilsome  in  the  extreme.  After  struggling  on 
for  another  hour  we  arrived  panting  at  the  summit,  and  before 
us  arose  dense  columns  of  sulphurous  smoke  emerging  from  the 
mouth  of  the  volcano,  whose  sullen  unbroken  roar  inspired  more 
dread  than  admiration.  After  a  short  pause  for  rest  and  wonder, 
our  guide  proposed  to  make  a  circuit  of  thfe  crater  ;  but  to  effect 
this  it  was  necessary  to  confront  an  opaque  cloud  of  stifling 
vapour  blowing  right  across  the  path.  He  warned  us  that  it 
was  a  trying  ordeal,  but,  nothing  daunted,  we  agreed  to  under 
take  it.  Covering  our  mouths  with  handkerchiefs,  we  grasped 
each  other's  hands,  the  guide  leading,  and  dashed  bravely  into 
the  lurid  suffocating  mist. 

I  soon  repented  of  my  folly,  for  I  had  the  greatest  difficulty 
to  respire,  and,  enveloped  in  darkness,  was  wholly  unconscious 
of  my  direction.  At  this  critical  moment  my  hand  was  dropped, 
and  I  stood  helpless.  I  was  afraid  to  move  lest  I  should  walk 
into  the  crater ;  and  to  get  my  breath  I  laid  down  on  the  hot 
cinders,  and  wondered  in  no  small  trepidation  what  was  to  become 
of  me.  In  a  few  minutes,  which  seemed  ages,  the  guide  came 
back,  found  and  rescued  me.  It  was  useless  to  assail  my  com 
panion  for  dropping  my  grip,  as  he  had  well-nigh  lost  conscious 
ness.  This  adventure  taught  me  how  dangerous  it  was  to  take 
liberties  with  volcanoes. 

Our  guide  remarked  that  Vesuvius  was  in  an  unusual  state 
of  agitation,  and  that  an  eruption  was  not  far  distant,  which  was 
anything  but  an  inducement  to  prolong  our  stay  in  its  perilous 
neighbourhood  ;  and,  bidding  the  treacherous  prodigy  farewell, 
we  turned  our  backs  on  it  for  ever.  There  are  two  things  I 
could  never  be  tempted  to  repeat — ascending  Mount  Vesuvius, 
or  going  under  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  The  night  after  this  we 
were  called  out  of  our  hotel  to  witness  lofty  jets  of  flame  that 
were  momentarily  shooting  up  from  the  raging  caverns  of  the 
mountain,  which  I  contemplated  with  all  the  more  satisfaction 
that  my  distance  was  a  safe  one. 

How  long  Vesuvius  has  been  at  work  no  one  can  say,  but 
the  first  eruption  recorded  is  that  of  79  A.D.,  which  lasted  three 


17°  Italy. 

weeks,  and  was  described  by  Pliny  the  Younger.  Since  then 
some  fifty  eruptions  have  ensued,  differing  of  course  in  violence 
and  duration.  It  will  be  interesting  to  cite  a  few.  In  September 
1538  one  occurred  which  led  to  the  formation  of  Monte  Nuevo — 
a  new  mountain.  It  was  forced  up  by  subterranean  convulsions 
to  the  height  of  413  feet  in  two  days.  Another  took  place  in 
December  1631,  and  overwhelmed  Torre  del  Greco  and  other 
villages  at  the  foot  of  Vesuvius,  causing  the  death  of  18,000 
persons.  A  series  of  violent  eruptions  commenced  in  May  and 
continued  till  August  1707,  and  the  ashes  were  thrown  on  Naples 
to  such  an  extent  as  to  cause  great  consternation.  Another 
series  began  in  February  1793,  and  raged  till  midsummer  1794, 
which  poured  torrents  of  lava  on  Torre  del  Greco,  destroying 
the  cathedral,  several  churches,  and  most  of  the  houses.  Furious 
disturbances  happened  in  October  1822,  during  which  the  great 
cone  fell  in,  and  vast  quantities  of  lava  covered  the  adjacent 
country.  The  village  oi%  Caposecco  was  ingulfed  in  August 
1834,  little  more  than  six  months  before  my  visit. 

I  have  given  but  a  limited  list  of  the  ruthless  pranks  of 
Vesuvius,  that  have  occurred  more  frequently  than  the  dates 
given,  and  during  which  various  phenomena  were  manifested, 
such  as  the  closing  of  old  craters  and  the  opening  of  new  ones, 
to  the  number  of  seven  on  one  occasion.  It  is  incredible  that 
people  venture  to  live  within  miles  of  it,  but  from  the  earliest 
times  villages  and  towns  are  constantly  found  in  its  neighbour 
hood.  Take  the  case  of  Torre  del  Greco,  which  has  been  ravaged 
over  and  over  again  by  inundations  of  lava  and  storms  of  ashes. 
It  is  like  sitting  on  the  safety-valve  of  a  boiler  to  dwell  in  this 
volcanic  region.  Vesuvius  is  about  nine  miles  from  Naples,  and 
six  miles  from  Pompeii.  Its  height  is  4400  feet. 

During  my  stay  I  made  many  delightful  excursions  to  places 
that  history  or  poetry  had  consecrated.  Not  the  least  interest 
ing  was  a  visit  to  the  subterranean  regions  immortalised  by  the 
genius  of  Virgil,  and  which  he  described  as  the  realms  of  Pluto. 
I  found  from  the  easy  manner  that  we  made  our  way  thither 
that  there  was  no  exaggeration  in  his  familiar  lines, 

'  Facilis  descensus  Averni  : 

Sed  revocare  gradum,  superasque  evadere  ad  auras, 
Hoc  opus,  hie  labor  est.' 

I  am  bound,  however,  to  declare,  in  the  face  of  Virgil's 
strophes,  that  we  got  back  as  comfortably  as  we  descended  to 


Italy.  1 7 1 

the  Stygian  lake.  In  the  figurative  sense,  beyond  doubt  the 
great  poet  is  fully  borne  out  by  all  experience  that  it  is  easier  to 
descend  into  folly  than  to  retrace  our  steps. 

It  was  a  matter  of  debate  whether  we  should  extend  our 
journey  to  Paestum,  some  miles  distant,  founded  by  a  Grecian 
colony  eight  centuries  B.C.  The  remains  of  temples  whose 
origin  was  lost  in  the  haze  of  ages  still  existed,  whose  archi 
tecture  filled  the  spectator  with  wonder.  Very  few  travellers 
visited  these  magnificent  ruins,  which  lay  in  a  desolate  tract  of 
country  much  infested  by  brigands.  We  decided  on  the  excur 
sion,  that  was  accomplished  in  three  days  without  adventure, 
but  vastly  to  our  delight.  The  temple  of  Neptune,  of  whose 
date  no  record  survives,  is  alone  worth  a  trip  to  Italy,  not  more 
for  its  remote  antiquity  than  for  its  marvellous  symmetry. 

I  was  anxious  to  visit  Sicily,  the  largest  island  in  the  Me 
diterranean,  and  its  capital,  Palermo,  was  said  to  be  full  of 
enchantment.  I  should  have  liked  also  to  gaze  on  Mount  Etna, 
the  great  volcanic  rival  of  Vesuvius,  whose  history  seems  so 
much  better  known,  for  Thucydides  records  an  eruption  in 
475  B.C.  It  has  never  permanently  given  over  its  terrifying 
gambols  ;  for  after  long  intervals  of  rest  it  breaks  out  anew,  and 
its  latest  performance  was  in  1832,  when  it  destroyed  the  town 
of  Bronte.  My  companions,  however,  opposed  the  excursion,  as 
they  thought  there  was  work  enough  left  without  going  farther 
to  seek  more. 

Everything  seemed  well  enough  managed  in  Naples,  where 
Ferdinand  II.  lived  in  great  state.  His  chief  amusement  was  to 
review  his  troops,  upon  whom  he  relied  for  the  maintenance  of 
his  throne.  He  was  detested  by  the  people  for  his  tyrannical 
ways,  and  there  was  no  want  of  Masaniellos  to  make  short  work 
of  him  and  his  army  if  Austria  would  not  interfere.  Italy  struck 
me  as  in  quite  as  volcanic  a  condition  as  either  Vesuvius  or 
Etna ;  but  whilst  the  mountains  aforesaid  are  allowed  free  play, 
unfortunate  Italy  was  prevented  from  exploding  by  the  iron 
hand  of  Austria,  which  for  so  many  centuries  had  controlled  its 
destinies.  That  mighty  man,  Napoleon,  once  drove  Austria 
out  of  Italy,  carried  off  the  Pope,  put  his  brother  Joseph  in 
Naples,  and  his  stepson  in  Milan.  The  relief  was  no  doubt 
a  pleasant  one,  but  Austria  resumed  her  ancient  sway.  His 
Holiness  was  again  master  at  Rome,  and  the  Bourbons  once 
more  in  Naples. 


172  Italy. 

Near  the  end  of  March  we  turned  our  faces  northwards,  and, 
after  lingering  another  week  in  the  Eternal  City  to  take  a  part 
ing  look  at  its  endless  wonders,  we  moved  on  to  Florence,  the 
capital  of  the  Grand  Duchy  of  Tuscany,  designated  as  the  gar 
den  of  Italy.  I  was  thoroughly  enchanted  with  Florence.  It 
had  not  the  historical  interest  of  Rome  or  the  bewildering 
sights  of  Naples  ;  but  it  seemed  less  of  a  show  place,  and 
better  adapted  for  a  quiet  and  luxurious  residence.  You  did 
not  meet  at  every  turn  a  squad  of  eager  travellers,  under  the 
convoy  of  a  local  guide,  hurrying  to  and  from  one  curiosity  to 
another.  Yet  Florence  revelled  in  attractions  hardly  to  be 
excelled  by  any  other  city.  Its  palaces,  churches,  gardens, 
galleries,  squares,  and  fountains ;  its  beautiful  river,  admirable 
thoroughfares,  superb  villas,  and  magnificent  scenery  surround 
ing  ;  to  say  nothing  of  its  low  prices,  delicious  climate,  beautiful 
women,  and  good  government, — all  these  made  an  ensemble  that 
constituted  Florence  an  earthly  paradise. 

I  will  not  dwell  on  its  charms  in  detail,  but  simply  refer  to 
the  precious  works  of  art  displayed  in  its  public  gallery  and  in 
the  Pitti  Palace.  These  two  collections  contained  gems  known  to 
all  the  world.  In  the  first  was  a  small  room  named  the  '  Tribune/ 
where  grouped  together  were  the  Venus  de*  Medicis,  the  Fornarina 
of  Raphael,  and  the  Venus  of  Titian.  It  would  be  idle  to  com 
ment  on  the  faultless  symmetry  of  the  Venus  de'  Medicis,  the 
most  perfect  imitation  in  marble  of  female  beauty  said  to  exist. 
Its  author  is  unknown,  but  it  is  supposed  to  be  a  copy  of  a  statue 
by  Praxiteles,  the  rival  in  fame  of  Phidias.  In  proof  of  the 
absolute  perfection  of  this  statue,  a  distinguished  artist  remarked 
to  me  that  'he  had  made  fifty  copies  of  it,  and  each  time  it 
seemed  to  him  more  divine.'  The  picture  of  Venus  by  Titian  is 
a  masterpiece  of  colour,  in  which  this  great  painter  excelled  \. 
but  connoisseurs  pronounce  his  drawing  often  defective. 

The  paragon  of  the  *  Tribune'  was  unquestionably  the  Forna 
rina  of  Raphael.  It  is  a  portrait  of  his  mistress,  who  was  a 
baker's  daughter,  as  the  name  of  the  picture  implies.  Of  course 
tastes  differ,  but  this  painting  struck  me  as  the  most  beautiful  I 
had  ever  witnessed.  The  expression  thrown  into  the  eyes  alone 
raise  it  above  all  rivalry. 

'  Mon  Dieul  exclaimed  an  enthusiastic  Frenchman,  who  stood 
gazing  at  it  one  day,  '  ces  yeux,  ces  yeux,  Us  parlent  /'  (My  God* 
those  eyes,  those  eyes,  they  speak  !) 


Italy. 173 

There  were  few  living  eyes  I  had  ever  met  so  full  of  elo 
quence,  passion,  and  power.  If  Raphael  had  painted  nothing  else, 
this  single  work  would  have  immortalised  him.  Sad  that  such  a 
genius  should  have  perished  at  thirty-seven,  the  victim  of  exces 
sive  labour  and,  perhaps,  too  much  indulgence.  He  was  a  con 
temporary  of  Michael  Angelo,  and  a  burning  rivalry  existed 
between  them.  Raphael  was  considered  his  equal  in  architec 
ture,  and  superior  in  painting.  A  French  critic  remarks  that 
'  Raphael,  whilst  not  inferior  to  Angelo  in  grandeur  of  concep 
tion  and  in  composition,  excelled  him  in  nature  and  in  grace. 
Raphael  united  all  kinds  of  perfection — composition,  drawing, 
colour,  grace,  vigour,  nature,  ideality.  He  is  justly  named  the 
Homer  of  painting.' 

His  last  picture,  shortly  before  his  death,  was  the  *  Trans 
figuration,'  now  in  the  gallery  of  the  Vatican.  It  is  called  the 
greatest  work  that  painting  has  produced. 

The  Pitti  Palace  was  the  residence  of  the  Grand  Duke,  and 
one  of  the  most  sumptuous  in  Italy.  According  to  the  fashion  of 
this  land  of  art,  the  rare  gallery  of  the  ducal  palace  was  thrown 
open  to  the  public,  and  daily  visited  by  strangers  and  residents. 
One  of  my  greatest  favourites,  Carlo  Dolci,  was  represented  here 
by  some  of  his  loveliest  creations.  This  master,  who  lived  in  the 
seventeenth  century,  is  seldom  approached  for  the  truthful  tender 
expression  depicted  in  all  his  female  faces.  His  St.  Cecilia  is  a 
striking  proof.  He  was  also  conspicuous  for  the  softness  and 
harmony  of  his  colour,  and  by  sweetness  of  touch,  that  procured 
him  his  appellation  of  Dolci. 

In  this  gallery,  too,  was  found  another  cJtef-d 'azuvre  of  Raphael 
— the  Madonna  della  Seigiola.  There  were  always  crowds  before 
this  exquisite  painting,  gazing  with  intense  admiration  at  its 
varied  beauties.  The  expression  of  maternal  love  portrayed  in 
the  Madonna's  countenance,  and  the  consciousness  of  protection 
and  watchful  care  exhibited  in  the  face  of  the  Divine  Infant 
nestling  in  His  mother's  bosom,  appealed  to  eveiy  heart. 

I  shall  say  no  more  of  pictures,  of  which  Italy  is  still  the 
granary  of  the  world.  Whilst  enriching  the  galleries  of  Europe, 
she  may  yet  boast  of  the  possession  of  the  rarest  models  of  her 
great  artists. 

Among  the  churches,  none  impressed  me  more  than  that  of 
Santa  Croce,  which  contains  the  monuments  of  Michael  Angelo, 
Machiavelli,  Galileo,  Dante,  and  Alfieri.  Apart  from  their  merit 


1 74  Italy. 

as  works  of  art,  every  spectator  is  impressed  by  the  great  names 
they  commemorate.  What  country  would  not  be  proud  of  such 
a  galaxy  ? 

I  met  no  person  in  Florence  who  interested  me  more  than  a 
gentleman  I  had  known  the  previous  year,  when  travelling  in  the 
United  States — the  Marquis  Torrigiani.  He  was  a  man  of  rare 
attainments,  and  of  quiet  pleasing  manners.  He  drove  me  one 
day  to  visit  some  beautiful  gardens  in  the  possession  of  his  family 
that  were  adorned  with  statuary,  fountains,  and  conservatories 
filled  with  choice  exotics.  No  city  in  Europe  surpasses  this  in  the 
number  and  splendour  of  its  pleasure-grounds  and  promenades. 

Florence  was  the  first  place  in  Italy  where  all  classes  seemed 
contented  with  the  Government.  The  Grand  Duke,  though  nearly 
related  to  the  detested  dynasty  of  Austria,  was  universally  popular. 
He  was  a  man  of  excellent  sense  and  strong  liberal  tendencies  ; 
and  Tuscany,  without  either  Constitution  or  Parliament,  boasted 
of  being  well  governed  and  entirely  content 


In  bidding  adieu  to  Florence  we  passed  through  Bologna  and 
Padua,  arriving  on  the  third  day  at  Fusina,  where  we  left  our 
carriage  for  a  gondola,  which  may  be  regarded  as  the  omnibus  of 
Venice.  As  we  advanced  towards  the  '  Queen  of  the  Adriatic*  I 
was  delighted  by  the  picturesque  appearance  of  this  ancient  city, 
which  dates  from  420  A.D.  Seen  from  a  distance,  it  seemed  to 
have  grown  out  of  the  sea  ;  which  is  hardly  a  delusion,  since  it 
was  built  on  a  number  of  small  islands — some  seventy  in  all — 
connected  by  short  bridges,  computed  at  329.  These  islands 
were  divided  by  narrow  streams  called  canals,  which  in  fact  con 
stituted  the  streets  of  Venice  ;  and  they  were  traversed  day  and 
night  by  some  9000  gondolas,  which  were  cheap  and  comfortable 
conveyances  enough,  of  pretty  construction,  though  sombre  of 
aspect,  as  they  were  all  painted  black.  In  the  way  of  a  view, 
nothing  could  be  more  striking  and  original  than  Venice,  contem 
plated  at  some  remote  point,  with  her  domes,  towers,  and  palaces, 
that  seemed  to  repose  swan-like  on  the  bosom  of  the  waters. 

After  threading  our  way  through  several  smaller  passages  we 
emerged  on  to  the  Grand  Canal,  the  main  artery  of  Venice,  lined 
with  noble  edifices,  rising  from  the  water's  edge  to  a  stately 
height.  We  landed  on  the  stone  steps  of  the  Leone  Bianco,  the 
leading  hotel,  and  occupied  apartments  vacated  that  morning  by 


Italy,  175 

the  siren  Malibran,  who  had  just  thrown  the  Venetians  into 
ecstasies  by  her  marvellous  voice. 

Venice  could  not  fail  to  move  every  stranger  by  its  sad  aspect 
of  decay.  Everything  had  a  mournful  dilapidated  look.  The  very 
silence  that  reigned,  from  the  absence  of  the  noisy  traffic  heard  in 
other  cities,  conveyed  a  sensation  that  you  were  inhabiting  a  city 
of  the  dead.  Indeed,  it  had  long  since  ceased  to  be  the  first  com 
mercial  Power  in  the  world.  The  time  was  when  she  did  the 
carrying  trade  of  Europe  with  the  East,  when  her  quays  were 
covered  with  merchandise  and  her  ships  filled  the  Archipelago, 
most  of  whose  islands  acknowledged  the  supremacy  of  the  'winged 
lion?  At  this  period — the  close  of  the  fifteenth  century — her 
coffers  overflowed  with  wealth,  and  her  political  influence  in 
Italy  and  Europe  was  undisputed.  The  discovery  of  the  route 
to  the  Indies  by  the  Cape  of  Good  Hope,  in  1497,  was  a  death 
blow  to  the  monopoly  she  had  hitherto  enjoyed.  The  League  of 
Cambrai,  in  1508,  stripped  her  of  nearly  all  her  Italian  posses 
sions  ;  and,  in  1571,  Selim  II.  robbed  her  of  Cyprus  and  most  of 
her  splendid  domains  in  the  Archipelago.  Blow  followed  blow, 
till,  in  1797,  came  the  fell  Bonaparte,  who  extinguished  the  last 
of  the  Doges,  and  handed  over  the  once  mistress  of  the  seas  to 
the  tender  mercies  of  Austria. 

From  697  to  1797,  a  period  of  noo  years,  no  less  than  122 
Doges  held  sway  over  the  fortunes,  good  and  bad,  of  Venice. 
From  the  beginning  to  the  end  the  Government  was  an  oli 
garchy — the  longest  that  ever  existed,  ancient  or  modern.  None 
but  nobles  inscribed  in  the  '  Golden  Book1  could  exercise  poli 
tical  functions.  All  these  were  now  things  of  the  past,  but  the 
memorials  of  their  grandeur  still  survived.  The  Palace  of  the 
Doges,  with  its  vast  apartments,  its  pictures  and  statuary — the 
Bridge  of  Sighs,  uniting  it  with  the  prison  where  so  many  vic 
tims  mysteriously  perished — were  still  intact,  and  riveted  the 
interest  of  the  traveller.  Other  relics  were  not  less  interesting — 
the  Church  of  St.  Marc,  with  its  $00  columns  of  marble,  dating 
from  976  A.  D.,  with  its  campanile  towering  to  the  skies ;  the 
Bridge  of  the  Rialto,  where  the  business  of  Europe  was  once 
transacted  ;  the  Library  of  St.  Marc,  rich  in  very  precious  manu 
scripts. 

Albeit  that  industry  and  commerce  were  gone,  yet  might 
Venice  boast  that  she  was  the  inventor  of  the  great  financial  lever 
of  modern  days,  since  the  Bank  of  Venice  was  founded  in  1156 


176  Italy. 

— the  parent  of  a  countless  progeny.  Nay,  prouder  still,  she  might 
vaunt  of  the  invention  of  paper,  and  that  from  her  presses 
appeared  the  first  printed  book  that  Italy  ever  saw.  In  arts 
she  was  the  equal,  and  in  arms  far  surpassed,  her  sister  cities  of 
the  Italian  main.  But  all  these  were  gone,  as  well  as  the  period 

'  When  Venice  sat  in  state,  throned  on  her  hundred  isles.' 

The  day  before  I  left  we  sculled  across  the  great  lagoon 
on  a  visit  to  the  Armenian  establishment,  whose  superintendent 
was  noted  for  his  learning,  and  spoke  twenty-four  languages. 
He  was  known,  besides,  as  an  intimate  friend  of  Byron.  He 
received  us  with  great  cordiality,  and  we  found  him  to  be  as 
genial  as  he  was  intelligent.  On  leaving,  he  warned  us  to  lose 
no  time,  as  the  lowering  clouds  gave  indications  of  an  approach 
ing  storm.  It  overtook  us  before  we  had  half  crossed  the  lagoon. 
The  wind  blew  fiercely,  and  the  sea  rose  rapidly.  Our  gondola 
danced  wildly  about,  and  every  instant  we  expected  to  be  im 
mersed.  At  last  we  were  dashed  against  a  small  island,  where 
we  managed  to  land,  and  stood  exposed  to  a  drenching  rain. 
Whilst  in  this  situation  we  beheld  a  gondola,  struggling  in  the 
waves,  upset,  and  six  unfortunates  drowned  within  fifty  yards 
of  us.  Taking  advantage  of  a  lull,  we  pushed  off  again  for 
Venice,  and  rejoiced  to  find  ourselves  once  more  skimming 
securely  over  her  placid  canals. 


The  first  halt  we  made,  after  leaving  the  City  of  the  Doges, 
was  in  the  beautiful  town  of  Milan.  Its  foundation  is  very 
remote,  dating  from  near  seven  hundred  years  before  the  Chris 
tian  era.  The  Romans  seized  it  195  B.C. ;  but  during  the  wars 
of  the  Middle  Ages  it  was  more  than  once  rased  to  the  ground. 
It  was  justly  regarded  as  one  of  the  finest  cities  in  Europe.  The 
streets  were  wide  and  well  paved,  and  the  houses  superb.  Squares 
and  gardens  were  numberless.  Of  all  the  churches  the  cathe 
dral  was  the  paragon,  and  doubtless  the  most  magnificent  Gothic 
edifice  in  the  world.  It  looked  like  a  huge  mountain  of  marble, 
carved  into  the  most  perfect  proportions,  and  ornamented  even 
to  excess.  Its  vast  roof  is  covered  with  pinnacles,  peaks,  and 
spires,  each  of  which  is  surmounted  with  a  statue  of  a  saint,  a 
warrior,  or  a  king  illustrious  in  the  history  of  Milan,  to  the 
incredible  number  of  4500.  This  celebrated  cathedral  was  begun 


Italy. ^77 

in  1385,  and  required  fifty-five  years  to  complete.  Even  after 
St.  Peter's  it  was  an  object  of  wonder. 

Our  Italian  tour  here  came  to  an  end,  and  our  faces  were 
now  turned  towards  Paris.  We  crossed  the  Alps  by  the  famous 
Simplon  road — a  splendid  specimen  of  skilful  engineering.  This 
was  one  of  the  great  works  of  Napoleon,  and  required  five  years 
to  construct.  It  contained  six  tunnels  cut  through  solid  rock — 
then  a  great  achievement — and  more  than  fifty  bridges  across 
yawning  precipices. 

We  passed  a  couple  of  pleasant  days  in  the  little  town  of 
Geneva,  renowned  for  its  watches,  and  as  the  birthplace  of  Jean 
Jacques  Rousseau,  who  was  the  son  of  a  watchmaker.  Of  its 
30,000  inhabitants,  20,000  were  Calvinists,  which  attested  the 
popularity  of  the  grim  rival  of  Luther.  From  our  windows  I 
contemplated  Mont  Blanc,  the  highest  peak  of  Europe,  and  so 
prettily  described  by  Byron  : 

'  Mont  Blanc  is  the  Monarch  of  Mountains  ; 

They  crowned  him  long  ago, 
On  a  throne  of  rocks,  in  a  robe  of  clouds, 
With  a  diadem  of  snow.' 

Wherever  my  gaze  wandered  I  counted  mountains  by  the  score. 
Switzerland  can  boast  of  being  in  one  sense  the  most  elevated 
country  on  the  Continent.  It  is,  so  to  speak,  built  on  the  Alps, 
and  all  their  loftiest  summits  are  enclosed  within  its  borders. 
One  would  suppose  it  was  above  the  reach  of  invading  armies  ; 
but  from  the  time  of  Julius  Caesar  it  has  fared  no  better  than 
the  various  nations  at  its  feet.  It  was  assaulted  constantly  dur 
ing  centuries,  but  more  than  once  its  hardy  mountaineers  beat 
the  assailants  back,  and  all  the  efforts  of  Charles  the  Bold 
failed  signally.  The  various  states,  or  cantons,  were  united  for 
the  first  time  under  a  Federal  system  in  1798  by  Bonaparte,  in 
compliance  with  their  wishes,  and  in  1803  he  further  improved 
their  organisation.  After  the  fall  of  Napoleon,  the  monarchies 
of  Europe,  in  1815,  consented  that  their  territory  should  hence 
forth  be  '  neutral  and  inviolable.'  They  have  nothing  now  to 
fear,  and  may  sing  the  ranz  des  vadtes  ana  manufacture  watches 
till  time  shall  be  no  more. 

The  Swiss  mountains  have  liberally  supplied  Germany, 
France,  and  Italy  with  great  rivers  like  the  Rhine,  the  Rhone, 
the  Adige,  and  the  Po,  but  have  retained  in  a  patriotic  spirit 
some  of  the  finest  lakes  in  Europe  ;  and  none  I  admired  more 
than  sweet  Lake  Leman,  which  kisses  the  feet  of  Geneva. 

N 


CHAPTER  XVIIL 

PARIS  REVISITED. 

THE  BOULEVARDS  IN  MAY — VERSAILLES  AND  ITS  HISTORY. 

ENTERING  our  carriage  for  the  last  time,  we  galloped  off  to  Paris, 
where  we  arrived  in  a  joyous  mood  the  middle  of  May.  After 
all  the  wonders  and  splendours  I  had  witnessed,  Paris  looked 
none  the  less  enticing  in  her  fresh  and  verdant  spring  attire.  All 
the  world  was  now  out  of  doors.  No  one  thought  more  of  balls 
and  theatres.  The  gardens  were  filled  with  pleasure-seekers ;  and 
in  front  of  the  cafes  on  the  Boulevards  were  arranged  rows  01 
small  marble  tables,  where  day  and  night  the  gay  chatty  Pari 
sians  of  both  sexes  were  sipping  their  coffee  and  eating  ices. 

This  was  just  the  time  of  year  for  excursions  to  the  environs, 
and  my  first  trip  was  to  Versailles.  Its  magnificent  palace  and 
gardens  were  one  of  the  marvels  of  Europe.  They  were  the 
work  of  Louis  XIV.,  who  consumed  nineteen  years  in  their  con 
struction,  and  two  hundred  million  dollars.  The  waterworks 
were  the  most  extensive  and  beautiful  in  the  world. 

From  1680  to  1789  this  palace  was  the  favourite  residence  01 
the  royal  family.  After  Louis  XIV.  it  was  occupied  by  Louis 
XV.  during  his  long  reign  of  fifty-one  years.  Who  shall  describe 
the  festivities,  the  intrigues,  and  the  debaucheries  of  which  it  was 
the  scene  during  the  ill-spent  life  of  this  weak  and  dissipated 
monarch  ?  It  was  here  that  the  famous  Marquise  de  Pompadour 
wielded  absolute  sway  for  twenty  years  over  the  destinies  of  the 
nation,  making  wars,  changing  ministers,  naming  ambassadors, 
and  creating  generals.  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman,  of  good 
birth,  and  of  an  ambitious  temper.  She  married  when  young, 
and  not  long  after  managed  to  attract  the  attention  of  the 
King  one  day  at  a  hunting-party.  A  little  later  she  left  her  hus 
band,  and  was  duly  installed  as  the  royal  mistress.  She  main 
tained  her  ascendency  at  Court  to  the  time  of  her  death,  and 
when  her  charms  had  faded  she  retained  her  influence  by  pan 
dering  to  the  gallantries  of  the  royal  rake.  She  was  highly 


Paris  Revisited.  179 


accomplished,  and  noted  for  her  skill  in  music  and  drawing. 
She  amassed  a  large  property,  .but  spent  it  lavishly.  Her  furni 
ture,  dress,  coiffures  were  so  tastefully  designed  as  to  become 
the  fashion  of  the  day,  and  everything  was  d  la  Pompadour.  All 
the  leading  men  of  the  time  paid  her  homage,  and  even  the 
cynical  Voltaire  yielded  to  her  spells,  and  extolled  her  grace  and 
beauty  in  some  of  his  finest  verses.  The  celebrated  porcelain 
manufactory  at  Sevres  was  established  under  her  patronage,  as 
well  as  the  Ecole  Militaire,  She  contributed  greatly  to  the  em 
bellishment  of  Paris. 

This  palace  was  also  the  scene  where  a  more  vulgar  heroine 
played  a  prominent  rdle.  The  long  list  of  Louis  XV.'s  excesses 
wound  up  with  his  mad  passion  for  Madame  du  Barry.  She  was 
a  woman  of  low  origin,  and  began  life  as  a  milliner.  She  then 
entered  a  brothel,  and  left  it  to  become  the  mistress  of  the  Count 
du  Barry.  When  tired  of  her,  it  occurred  to  this  spendthrift  that 
he  might  turn  the  striking  beauty  of  his  paramour  to  a  profitable 
account,  and  he  presented  her  to  the  King,  who  became  violently 
enamoured.  From  this  period,  1769,  to  the  death  of  the  King, 
five  years  later,  she  exercised  the  same  authority  once  wielded  by 
La  Pompadour,  and  induced  his  Majesty  to  dismiss  the  Choiseul 
Ministry,  and  substitute  her  minion,  the  Chancellor  Maupeou, 
whose  arbitrary  conduct  accelerated  the  march  of  the  Revolu 
tion.  She  afterwards  lived  for  eighteen  years  in  utter  obscurity  ; 
but,  alarmed  at  the  violence  of  the  times,  she  went  over  to  Eng 
land  in  1792,  to  deposit  in  safety  some  valuable  diamonds,  and 
then  returned  to  France.  A  little  later  she  was  arrested,  and 
condemned  to  death.  At  her  execution  she  displayed  the  utmost 
terror,  and,  hoping  to  save  her  life,  she  accused  various  persons 
of  royalist  leanings,  who  were  all  guillotined  in  turn. 

The  last  incident  connected  with  this  palace,  and  which  closed 
its  career  as  a  royal  residence,  was  the  gathering  of  the  people  of 
Paris  under  its  windows  in  1789,  demanding  the  return  to  the 
Tuileries  of  Louis  XVI.  and  Marie  Antoinette.  It  was  on  this 
occasion  that  Lafayette,  the  popular  idol,  appeared  in  a  balcony 
with  the  King,  whom  he  embraced,  in  order  to  conciliate  the 
crowd  ;  just  as  he  embraced  Louis  Philippe,  in  a  balcony  of  the 
H6tel  de  Ville,  forty-one  years  later. 

I  made  another  pleasant  excursion  to  St.  Germain,  where  an 
old  palace,  dating  from  1370,  still  existed.  But  a  greater  attrac 
tion  was  the  splendid  forest  adjoining,  which  contained  many 


1 80  Paris  Revisited. 


delightful  drives,  to  say  nothing  of  the  noble  terrace  on  its  borders, 
commanding  an  admirable  view  of  Paris. 

I  devoted  another  day  to  the  beautiful  grounds  and  palace  of 
St.  Cloud.  It  was  here  that  Charles  X.  was  calmly  playing  his 
rubber,  during  the  Revolution  of  1830,  when  he  was  abruptly  told 
to  mount  his  horse  and  gallop  out  of  France. 

I  feared  to  prolong  my  stay  in  this  seductive  town  ;  so  Wil 
liams  and  I  resolved  once  more  to  take  to  flight,  and  recommence 
our  travels.  We  set  off  in  the  diligence  for  Havre,  where  we  em 
barked  for  England. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

LONDON. 

JOURNEY  TO  THE  METROPOLIS — FIRST  IMPRESSIONS — THE  ITALIAN  OPERA — THE 
DERBY-DAY — A  REBUFF,   ETC. 

ON  a  lovely  morning  towards  the  end  of  May  we  landed  at  Ports 
mouth,  the  largest  naval  station  of  the  kingdom.  It  was  already 
prominent  in  the  reign  of  Henry  VIII.  I  experienced  lively  emo 
tion  on  setting  foot  on  English  soil.  No  American  can  be  insen 
sible  to  the  claims  of  the  mother  country  on  his  affections  and  re 
spect.  The  errors  of  her  misguided  politicians  led  to  the  rupture 
of  the  colonial  tie  ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  forget  that  our  consti 
tutional  forms,  our  traits  of  character,  and  much  of  the  civilisation 
we  enjoy  are  invaluable  legacies  inherited  from  our  aged  and  re 
nowned  parent.  My  heart  warmed,  as  I  heard  for  the  first  time 
in  Europe  the  accents  of  my  native  tongue,  and  recognised  in  the 
manners  and  customs  of  the  people  the  closeness  of  our  relation 
ship.  In  spite  of  family  quarrels,  which  may  have  engendered 
some  ugly  feelings  of  resentment ;  in  spite  of  the  political  jealousies 
which  a  republican  system  may  inspire  against  a  monarchical 
form,  I  believe  there  are  few  Americans  who  visit  England  for 
the  first  time  whose  feelings  are  not  profoundly  stirred  by  the 
consciousness  they  are  treading  the  ground  of  their  forefathers, 
whose  names  still  survive  on  the  tombs  scattered  over  the  church 
yards  of  England. 

I  was  busy  with  these  reflections  whilst  eating  my  breakfast 
at  the  old-fashioned  inn  at  Portsmouth,  which  I  enjoyed  all  the 
more  for  the  neat  and  tidy  aspect  of  everything  my  glance  fell 
upon.  My  joy  was  unutterable  at  finding  myself  once  more  in  a 
land  of  carpets.  The  bare  desolate  floors  of  the  Continent  had 
been  to  me  a  prolonged  agony.  Not  even  the  unobtrusive  civility 
of  the  servants,  nor  the  pleasant  smile  of  the  rosy-cheeked  bar 
maid,  with  her  blue  eyes  and  auburn  locks,  were  more  welcome 
than  the  cheerful  comfortable  carpet  that  once  again  gladdened 
my  sight. 

If  the  sound  of  my  native  tongue  was  music  to  my  ears,  not 


182  London. 


less  grateful  to  my  eyes  was  the  fair  white  skin  of  my  Saxon  kin 
dred,  after  the  sallow  swarthy  complexions  of  the  Gaul  and  his 
Latin  neighbour. 

I  was  in  this  enviable  frame  of  mind  when  a  new  sensation 
broke  upon  me.  The  *  coach'  drove  up  to  take  us  to  London, 
and  '  surely  never  lighted  on  this  orb  a  more  delightful  vision/ 
The  equipage  was  perfectly  dazzling  after  what  I  had  seen  of 
public  conveyances  on  the  Continent.  It  looked  as  if  it  could 
hardly  be  meant  for  public  use. 

If  the  carriage  was  so  perfect,  what  shall  I  say  of  the  horses  ? 
Never  had  I  seen  such  beautiful  creatures  before,  with  their  small 
heads,  slender  limbs,  and  perfect  shape.  The  neat  harness  of 
polished  leather,  mounted  in  glittering  brass,  was  an  additional 
charm.  The  coachman  had  the  appearance  of  a  gentleman,  and 
likely  was  so,  as  men  of  fortune  often  drove  the  coach  in  those 
days,  for  the  mere  love  of  the  thing.  The  '  guard/  in  his  scarlet 
uniform  and  with  his  profuse  civility,  was  quite  a  new  feature.  The 
passengers  all  preferred  the  outside  places,  of  which  there  were  a 
dozen.  I  was  lucky  enough  to  get  the  box-seat,  alongside  the 
driver,  and  we  started  to  the  minute.  The  smooth  road,  the  easy 
coach,  and  the  four  lovely  '  thoroughbreds'  that  whirled  us  along 
at  ten  miles  the  hour,  convinced  me  I  had  discovered  the  poetry 
of  travel  at  last. 

It  was  only  forty-seven  years  previously,  1788,  that  the  English 
coach  was  introduced  for  the  conveyance  of  mails  and  passengers, 
and,  alas,  to  think  its  days  were  already  numbered !  The  first 
railway,  that  began  its  career,  in  1832,  by  killing  a  Minister  of 
State,  must  add  to  its  holocausts  the  annihilation  of  the  most  per 
fect  form  of  locomotion  known  to  man.  Forty  miles  the  hour 
may  be  a  gain  to  the  world  of  business,  but  the  lovers  of  luxury 
will  for  ever  mourn  the  disappearance  of  the  stage-coach  of  Eng 
land. 

Exhilarated  as  I  was,  the  beauty  of  the  landscape  nearly 
drove  me  wild.  I  had  heard  that  all  England  was  a  garden,  but 
I  had  wholly  underrated  the  term.  Such  exquisite  phases  of 
sylvan  scenery  as  burst  upon  me,  as  I  sped  through  this  earthly 
paradise,  I  had  not  anticipated.  Nothing  I  had  seen  approached 
it.  It  were  as  easy  to  describe  a  rainbow  as  the  vast  stretches  of 
gleaming  sward,  the  shady  dells,  the  leafy  glens,  the  sombre 
woodlands,  the  placid  rivulets  and  bubbling  brooks,  the  wealth  of 
foliage  everywhere;  the  trim  hedge-like  walls  of  verdure;  the  noble 


London.  1 8  3 


parks,  with  broad  avenues  of  umbrageous  oaks,  and,  in  the  purple 
distance,  superb  mansions  covered  with  ivy  to  the  roof  ;  nor  less 
attractive  the  comely  cattle,  browsing  on  the  rich  pasturage  or 
reclining  in  the  shade.  Had  all  the  artists  of  the  world  been 
summoned  to  devise  a  landscape,  they  could  have  produced  no 
thing  like  it.  Small  credit  to  an  Englishman  to  love  such  a  land 
as  his.  Devout  republicans  as  all  Americans  are,  we  would  vote 
nem.  con.  to  annex  this  beautiful  island  to-morrow,  in  spite  of  its 
royalty,  hereditary  aristocracy,  and  venerable  abuses.  Pity  that 
Providence  planted  it  so  far  away ! 

And  the  spruce  cleanly  old  villages  we  rattled  through !  What 
a  contrast  to  the  slovenly  hamlets  of  France  and  Italy !  They 
bore  the  stamp  of  centuries,  yet  they  looked  so  smiling  and  bright, 
with  their  flower-pots  in  the  windows,  and  the  honeysuckle  clam 
bering  over  the  doors  or  trellised  on  the  walls.  The  passion  for 
flowers  seemed  universal.  Not  the  humblest  ostler  without  his 
nosegay,  and  the  top  of  our  coach  looked  like  a  parterre. 

The  silent  swiftness  with  which  our  horses  were  changed  was 
a  marvel.  One  team  was  removed,  another  substituted,  the  reins 
handed  to  the  coachman,  who  never  budged  from  his  perch,  all  in 
three  minutes,  and  we  were  off  without  a  word  spoken.  Succeed 
ing  the  tremendous  hubbub  that  accompanied  the  same  process 
abroad,  I  was  amazed.  After  the  garrulity  and  clatter  of  the 
French — for  noise  is  one  of  their  greatest  luxuries — the  reserve 
and  taciturnity  of  the  English  were  almost  chilling.  At  the  cus 
tom-house,  the  inn,  on  the  road — it  was  the  same  everywhere. 
Not  a  phrase  uttered  that  was  unnecessary.  Talking  for  talk's 
sake,  so  natural  to  the  French,  was  silly  in  Saxon  eyes.  Not 
that  they  are  morose,  or  even  unsociable,  when  the  ice  is  broken  : 
but  their  advances  are  slow  and  cautious.  When  an  Englishman 
makes  your  acquaintance  he  means  it. 

We  were  trotting  briskly  up  a  slope,  and  signs  of  traffic  and 
bustle  increased  every  moment.  I  observed  a  splendid  park  on 
my  left,  bristling  with  equipages. 

1  What's  that  ?'  I  asked. 

'  Hyde  Park.' 

'  Where's  Hyde  Park  Corner  ?'  I  demanded  eagerly. 

'  We  are  passing  it  now.' 

'  This,  then,'  I  exclaimed  earnestly,  '  is  the  very  spot  where 
Charles  II.  made  the  witty  retort  to  his  brother  James,  who  re 
monstrated  at  the  King  going  about  without  escort.  "  Nobody 


184  London. 


will  kill  me  to  make  you  king,"  said  the  Merry  Monarch,  laugh 
ing.' 

The  gentleman  holding  the  reins  by  my  side,  to  whom  I  im 
parted  this  interesting  information,  looked  at  me  askance,  and 
evidently  concluded  I  had  taken  a  glass  too  much. 

*  It  may  be  so/  he  remarked  demurely,  '  but  I  never  heard  it.' 

His  tone  was  a  damper.  Enthusiasm  no  Englishman,  high  or 
low,  can  comprehend. 

As  we  dashed  through  Piccadilly,  the  guard's  horn  sounding 
every  moment  to  clear  the  way  for  the  coach,  my  heart  beat  and 
my  temples  throbbed.  I  was,  then,  in  London,  the  dream  of  my 
life.  My  rapture  was  intense. 

'  No  room,  sir,'  was  the  monotonous  reply  from  a  dozen  hotels 
I  drove  to  on  leaving  the  coach,  and  I  feared  I  should  pass  the 
night  in  the  street.  At  last  we  found  shelter.  It  was  the 
height  of  the  '  Season,'  and  London  was  crammed.  I  had  often 
heard  of  the  Season  ;  the  grandest  organisation  for  dining,  danc 
ing,  dawdling,  and  flirting — for  pleasure  and  excitement — the  sun 
ever  shone  upon.  Here,  in  leafy  June,  Parliament  was  sitting, 
Fashion  on  her  throne,  picture-galleries  and  operas  in  full  swing. 
In  short,  all  the  world  was  in  town.  Strange  anomaly  ;  when  all 
other  cities  were  dispersing  for  *  fresh  woods  and  pastures  new,' 
London  was  gathering  recruits  from  every  quarter  in  mad  pursuit 
of  amusement  The  solution  is  simple.  In  summer  London  is 
dry,  fogless,  and  never  hot,  the  thermometer  varying  from  65°  to 
75°.  Then  or  never  it  must  be  enjoyed.  In  winter  the  country 
is  verdant  and  cheerful,  and  fox-hunting — the  passion  of  the 
nation  from  peer  to  cockney — in  full  cry.  Neither  pictures  or 
music  or  law-making  would  ever  divert  an  Englishman  from  his 
fox-hunts.  Inter  arma  silent  leges,  shouted  the  Romans  of  old  ; 
but  when  the  hounds  are  unleashed  in  England  not  only  are  laws 
silent,  but  everything  else  forgotten. 

My  first  walk  in  London  was  staggering.  The  Brobdignagian 
size  of  the  place  confounded  me.  It  covered  a  superficies  the  mind 
could  not  compass.  More  bewildering  still  was  the  steady  oceanic 
flow  of  its  vast  population — the  pavements  covered  with  pedes 
trians,  and  the  roadways  filled  with  ceaseless  traffic  the  livelong 
day.  In  this  prodigious  conflux,  this  swarming  mass  of  humanity, 
I  dwindled  down  to  the  merest  pigmy.  Let  no  local  magnate, 
with  an  immense  sense  of  his  self-importance,  come  to  London. 
The  discovery  of  his  insignificance  might  be  fatal. 


London.  185 


The  order  and  calm  that  prevailed  were  another  feature.  The 
mighty  current  flowed  up  and  down  without  a  ripple.  The  police 
man's  hint  to  '  move  on'  was  rarely  heard  ;  every  one  seemed  in 
tent  on  his  purpose,  and  pursued  it  with  unbroken  gait.  I  thought 
them  nearly  related  to  the  man  in  Tennessee,  '  who  made  a  for 
tune  by  minding  his  own  business.'  All  this  industry,  activity, 
and  traffic  meant'  wealth,  and  signs  of  it  abounded.  The  rich 
wares  of  the  shops,  the  innumerable  equipages  in  the  parks,  the 
inflated  scale  of  prices,  proved  extraordinary  opulence.  The 
architecture  of  London  was  surpassed  by  that  of  Paris  and  the 
Italian  cities ;  its  museums  of  art  were  inferior,  its  class  of 
flaneurs  and  loungers  outnumbered  ;  but  it  enjoyed  the  proud 
consciousness  it  could  buy  them  all,  and  never  miss  the  outlay. 

Comfort,  not  show — repugnant  to  English  taste — was  a  lead 
ing  characteristic.  For  comfort,  the  pavements  were  level  as 
floors,  the  streets  macadamised,  the  sewage  perfect,  the  gas- 
lamps  thick  as  stars,  penetrating  every  nook,  the  police  vigil 
ant  and  civil.  For  comfort,  parks  of  hundreds  of  acres,  for 
driving  and  riding,  were  enclosed,  besides  spacious  squares  with 
trees  and  flowers — bright  fragrant  oases  in  the  wilderness  of 
houses. 

If  England  and  France,  instead  of  being  twenty-five  miles 
apart,  had  occupied  different  planets,  they  could  not  have  been 
more  utterly  unlike  at  every  point.  In  language,  appearance, 
manners  ;  in  habits,  tastes,  amusements  ;  in  conduct,  character, 
and  everything  constituting  individuality,  they  were  wide  as 
the  poles  asunder.  In  Paris  I  was  instantly  startled  and  cap 
tivated  by  the  absolute  novelty  to  all  I  had  ever  seen  or  known  ; 
whilst  in  London  I  was  touched  and  attracted  by  much  that 
was  wonted  and  familiar  from  my  earliest  recollection.  Nothing 
reminded  me  more  of  home  than  people  living  in  their  own 
houses,  with  their  lares  et  penates  about  them,  instead  of  occupy 
ing  flats  and  sharing  the  same  staircase  with  a  dozen  other 
families. 

In  the  way  of  contrasts  nothing  was  more  remarkable.  I 
might  say  ludicrous,  than  the  rivers  of  Paris  and  London — the 
Seine  and  the  Thames.  The  former,  with  its  swimming-baths 
and  toy  steamers,  mere  cockboats,  would  have  scarcely  attracted 
notice  but  for  its  historical  bridges,  more  curious  than  elegant ; 
whilst  the  majestic  Thames  bore  on  its  broad  bosom  the  com 
merce  of  the  world.  Its  stupendous  docks  were  crowded  with 


i86  London. 


the  shipping  of  every  clime,  and  on  beholding  them  I  realised 
the  significance  of  the  familiar  phrase  a  '  forest  of  masts/  for  the 
number  was  incredible.  But  the  time  is  approaching  when  this 
graceful  spectacle  of  yards,  topmasts,  and  tapering  spars  will 
be  superseded  by  the  grimy  funnels  of  countless  steamers,  whose 
thick  vapours  will  darken  the  sky. 

My  view  of  the  Thames,  with  its  vast  facilities  for  mari 
time  trade,  deepened  the  conviction  that  England  was  as  essen 
tially  commercial  as  her  French  neighbour  was  decidedly  mili 
tary.  The  fishmongers'  stalls  alone  all  over  London  proved  the 
Briton's  propinquity  to  the  briny  element ;  whilst  an  unhappy 
salmon  that  reached  Paris  after  two  days'  travel  was  a  curi 
osity  and  a  wonder,  often  a  highly-scented  one  then.  Jack-tars 
and  shipping  were  as  familiar  in  London  as  barracks  and  sol 
diers  in  Paris.  There  could  be  no  doubt  about  it.  The  two 
nations  worshipped  at  different  shrines.  Neptune  waved  his 
trident  over  England.  The  trumpet  of  Mars  resounded  through 
France. 

After  I  had  recovered  my  centre  of  gravity,  a  good  deal 
shaken  by  what  has  been  described,  and  more  that  has  not ; 
after  I  had  gloated  over  the  Tower,  built  by  the  Conqueror  in 
1080,  and  sacred  to  the  memory  of  the  unfortunate  Princes 
*  crammed  into  a  box  and  thrown  down  the  Thames'  by  the 
bloody  Richard  ;  after  I  had  wandered  in  the  '  dim  religious 
light'  of  Westminster  Abbey,  raised  by  Edward  the  Confessor, 
and  had  contemplated  the  ancient  chair  in  which  the  Eng 
lish  sovereigns  are  crowned,  and  read  the  names  of  many  illus 
trious  dead  on  their  tombs, — I  bethought  me  of  my  letters  of 
introduction,  and  singled  out  first  that  for  Mr.  James  Dunlop, 
which  I  delivered  at  his  house  in  Russell-square.  I  was  grati 
fied  by  a  most  cordial  reception.  He  was  something  over  sixty, 
pale  and  thin,  as  though  in  delicate  health.  He  was  a  retired 
merchant  of  large  fortune,  and  Scotch  by  birth.  He  regretted  his 
family  were  driving  in  the  Park  at  the  time  of  my  visit,  but  asked 
me  to  meet  them  next  day  at  dinner. 

On  entering  the  drawing-room  the  following  evening,  I  was 
presented  to  Mrs.  Dunlop,  a  daughter  of  the  '  Old  Dominion/ 
with  all  the  bonhomie  and  good  tone  of  a  true  Virginian.  Her 
niece,  Miss  Gamble,  charmed  me  at  first  sight.  She  was  petite, 
but  of  perfect  symmetry  and  exceeding  grace.  Her  hazel  eyes 
had  a  merry  sparkle  that  indicated  intelligence  and  a  vivacious 


London.  187 


disposition.  I  was  delighted  with  them  all,  and  on  leaving  was 
told  to  make  the  house  my  own  ;  words  of  touching  significance 
to  a  stranger  in  this  mammoth  metropolis.  Shortly  after,  Mr. 
Dunlop  invited  me  to  escort  the  ladies  to  the  Opera,  as  he  rarely 
went  out  at  night,  which  I  cheerfully  assented  to. 

The  Opera  at  that  day  was  the  culminating  point  of  the 
elite  of  London.  Boxes  brought  fabulous  sums,  whilst  pit-tickets 
sold  for  two  dollars  and  fifty  cents  when  they  could  be  had.  This 
was  not  surprising,  as  all  the  lyric  and  saltatory  talent  of  Europe 
was  summoned  to  London,  at  whatever  cost,  to  swell  the  delights 
of  the  '  season.'  Grisi,  Persiani,  Rubini,  Tamburini,  and  Lablache 
were  a  phalanx  in  opera  never  seen  before,  nor  will  ever  be  again, 
at  least  in  our  day.  Fanny  Elssler  and  Taglioni  figured  at  the 
head  of  the  ballet.  Such  a  combination  of  singers  and  dancers 
could  only  be  congregated  in  London.  Another  proof  of  British 
wealth. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  splendour  of  the  spectacle  on  my 
first  visit.  Not  that  the  house  was  as  vast  as  those  of  Milan 
and  Naples,  but  the  audience  utterly  eclipsed  them  in  brilliancy. 
Every  one  was  in  evening  dress,  and  the  women  were  resplen 
dent  in  diamonds.  Mrs.  Dunlop  was  as  good  as  a  directory, 
and  pointed  out  all  the  celebrities.  In  a  capacious  box  was  the 
Countess  of  Blessington  with  a  suite  of  notable  men.  Her 
beauty,  literary  reputation,  and  romantic  passt  made  her  an  ob 
ject  of  unusual  interest.  Half  the  eyes  of  the  audience  were 
constantly  upon  her. 

In  the  omnibus  box  were  grouped  Count  d'Orsay,  the  Earl  of 
Chesterfield,  the  Marquis  of  Douro,  and  other  lions  of  fashion. 

'Who  is  that  stout  jolly-looking  woman,'  I  asked,  'whose 
box  is  always  full  of  visitors  ?' 

'  That  is  the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans,'  was  the  rejoinder.  *  You 
know  her  history  ?' 

'  No  ;  what  is  it  ?* 

'  Why,  she  was  originally  an  actress,  Miss  Mellon,  and  her 
beauty  and  intelligence  caught  the  eye  of  a  millionaire,  Coutts 
the  banker,  who  finally  married  her.  He  further  obliged  her  by 
dying  soon  after,  leaving  her  all  his  money.  Then  the  Duke  of 
St.  Albans  fell  in  love  with  her,  or  her  immense  income,  and 
espoused  her.  With  her  great  tact,  rank,  and  revenue,  she  de 
termined  to  achieve  a  position,  and  in  a.  few  years  her  balls  and 
routs  were  the  talk  of  London.' 


1 8  8  London. 


'  A  very  strange  story,  truly/  I  said,  and  looked  at  the  ex- 
actress  with  more  curiosity  than  ever.* 

In  spite  of  the  opera,  the  ballet,  and  all  the  grand  people, 
my  attention  was  concentrated  on  a  feature  of  the  occasion  that 
was  new,  and  affected  my  nerves  terribly.  I  refer  to  the  dtcolletfa 
condition  of  the  female  part  of  the  audience.  All  of  them,  and 
of  all  ranks,  who  had  anything  to  boast  of,  made  a  revelation, 
not  merely  of  arms  and  shoulders,  but  of  their  busts,  that  was 
quite  appalling  to  one  *  not  a  native  here,  and  to  the  manner 
born.'  I  had  seen  nothing  like  it  in  my  travels,  for  French  and 
Italian  women,  though  considered  lax  by  the  English,  recoiled 
from  any  similar  parade  of  their  charms.  What  a  strange  in 
consistency  ! 

The  Britons,  men  and  women,  are  unquestionably  a  moral 
people,  and  decorous  in  all  things  to  a  nice  degree  ;  but  in  so 
ciety  the  ladies  make  an  expost  of  their  persons  absolutely 
thrilling  to  a  stranger.  They  are,  it  is  true,  magnificent  creatures 
— a  roundness  and  fulness  of  form,  commanding  height,  and 
beauty  of  complexion  quite  unmatched.  Their  fair  white  skin 
was  dazzling  after  the  sallow  cuticle  of  the  French.  Yet,  for 
all  that,  I  could  not  comprehend  the  startling  usage  of  unmask 
ing  their  loveliness  to  the  extent  I  witnessed  on  my  advent  at 
the  Opera  and  a  thousand  times  after.  Instead  of  sober  Eng 
land,  I  almost  doubted  if  I  was  in  a  Christian  land,  but  wander 
ing  rather  in  the  Oriental  clime  of  the  voluptuous  infidel.  I 
looked  around,  perplexed  at  the  impassibility  of  the  men,  who 
seemed  unconscious  of  the  formidable  batteries  their  eyes  must 
have  encountered  every  moment,  whilst  I  was  in  a  state  of  pertur 
bation  hard  to  conceal. 

Accustomed  to  the  prudery  of  my  native  town,  where  a  nude 
statue  flushed  the  cheek  of  innocence,  and  where  the  unadorned 
nymphs  of  a  Rubens  or  a  Titian  would  have  been  stigmatised  as 
indecent,  I  considered  the  spectacle  not  only  novel,  but  indeli 
cate.  Truly  nations  have  their  anomalies,  as  individuals,  that 
confound  philosophy  and  defy  solution. 

The  tone  of  the  audience  was  wholly  different  from  what  I 
had  seen  elsewhere.  A  cold  repose,  a  frigid  dignity,  prevailed 
throughout.  It  was  not  listlessness  nor  insensibility,  for  all  were 

*  At  her  death  the  Duchess  of  St.  Albans  restored  the  whole  of  the  great  pro 
perty  of  her  first  husband  to  his  granddaughter,  Miss  Burdett,  now  the  Baroness  Burdett- 
Coutts,  only  bequeathing  fifty  thousand  dollars  a  year  to  the  Duke,  her  second  husband. 


London.  189 


attentive,  and  •  the  applause  was  frequently  hearty.  Still  there 
was  an  imperturbability  quite  chilling  after  the  vivacity  of  the 
French  and  the  geniality  of  the  Italians.  This  was  the  habitual 
manner  of  the  aristocracy,  I  found,  and  it  had  spread  through  all 
classes.  It  was  not  affectation  or  assumption,  but  none  the  less 
repelling  to  foreigners. 

The  English  haut  ton,  backed  by  rank,  pedigree,  and  wealth, 
are  often  considered  as  supercilious  ;  but  it  is  rather  their  damp 
and  gloomy  climate  that  renders  them  so  stoical  and  apparently 
torpid.  A  year  of  unbroken  sunshine  would  change  the  national 
character. 

The  following  day  occurred  the  annual  carnival  of  London, 
the  Derby-day,  so  called  in  honour  of  the  Earl  of  Derby,  who  in 
1780  founded  the  racecourse  near  the  village  of  Epsom,  some 
fourteen  miles  from  the  metropolis.  The  animation  and  hilari 
ous  aspect  that  pervaded  the  town  astonished  me.  After  the 
frigid  reserve  of  the  Opera-house,  and  the  serious  plodding  ways 
of  the  people  which  had  impressed  me  daily,  this  complete  me 
tamorphosis  of  mien  took  me  by  surprise.  '  It  is  not  a  •  year 
or  two  shows  us  a  man/  says  Emilia  in  the  play ;  nor  a  nation 
either.  Englishmen  are  by  nature  business  animals.  Napo 
leon  called  them  boutiquiers — shopkeepers  —  and  the  desig 
nation  is  not  unjust.  The  peer  with  an  untold  rent-roll  is 
always  eager  to  increase  it,  and  all  below  are  on  the  qui  vive 
to  add  to  their  ingots.  But  as  the  old  adage  hath  it,  'all 
work  and  no  play  makes  Jack  a  dull  boy,'  and  John  Bull  is  no 
exception.  Fallible  as  the  rest  of  mankind,  he  gives  way, 
though  rarely,  to  a  frolic,  and  enjoys  it  all  the  more.  His  in 
dustrious  progeny  across  the  Atlantic  sometimes  do  the  same 
thing,  and  put  up  the  shutters  on  the  4th  of  July. 

Without  accusing  the  Christian  English  of  fetishism,  I  boldly 
assert  they  have  an  idol,  and  it  is  the  horse.  From  high  to  low 
they  love  it  to  adoration,  and  if  they  had  lived  in  Roman  days  they 
would  have  deified  it.  If  ever  you  catch  an  Englishman  stand 
ing  in  the  street,  oblivious  of  all  else,  with  his  eyes  in  a  fixed 
gaze,  it  is  at  some  splendid  specimen  of  the  equine  breed  he  is 
staring,  and  longing  to  possess.  Time  and  lore  are  devoted  to 
the  breeding  of  horses  ;  immense  sums  are  spent  upon  their  train 
ing  for  all  kinds  of  uses  ;  but  the  highest  is  that  of  the  turf.  It  is 
on  a  racecourse  that  the  best  blood  wins  the  day.  From  1356, 
when  Edward  III.  purchased  '  running  horses/  this  passion  has 


1 90  London. 


grown,  and  now  it  has  become  the  dominant  one  of  England. 
Horse-racing,  however,  is  more  ancient,  and  may  boast  of  a 
classical  origin,  since  it  was  introduced  at  the  national  games  of 
Greece,  649  B.C. 

I  thought  the  chance  of  seeing  John  Bull  in  a  moment  of 
abandon  was  too  good  to  lose  ;  so  Williams  and  I  with  no  small 
difficulty  obtained  a  carriage,  and  joined  the  huge  current  flow 
ing  steadily  to  Epsom  the  morning  of  the  Derby-day.  In 
proof  of  the  estimation  in  which  the  sport  was  held,  Parlia 
ment  annually  adjourned,  and  most  of  the  members  of  both 
Houses  wended  their  way  to  the  famous  downs.  The  village  of 
Epsom  was  a  fashionable  resort,  for  its  mineral  springs,  two 
hundred  years  ago,  and  was  associated  in  my  mind  with  certain 
odious  doses  of  salts  that  I  was  forced  to  swallow  when  too 
young  to  protect  myself. 

The  road  for  the  whole  distance  was  lined  with  throngs  of 
country  folk,  who  flocked  thither  for  miles  round  to  witness  the 
concourse  of  vehicles  of  every  conceivable  variety,  from  the 
chariot-and-four  of  the  nobility  to  the  donkey-cart  of  the  coster- 
monger.  The  scene  of  the  festival  was  a  broad  piece  of  table 
land,  surrounded  by  the  Surrey  hills,  which  at  this  verdant 
season  was  a  pretty  sight  of  itself;  and  the  vast  concourse 
assembled  looked  like  a  dark  carpet  covering  the  bright  sward 
as  far  as  the  eye  could  reach.  It  was,  in  truth,  a  glorious  sight. 
The  Royal  and  other  stands  were  filled  with  the  tlite  of  the 
land,  females  as  numerous  as  men ;  and  attired  in  gay  dresses, 
their  faces  beaming  with  excitement,  the  fair  daughters  of  Albion 
were  lovely  to  behold.  Carriages  were  drawn  up  about  the 
course  four  and  six  deep,  crowded  with  merry  faces. 

I  gave  a  glance  at  the  racers,  that  were  walked  up  and  down  be 
fore  the  judge's  rostrum  after  being  saddled  and  mounted.  They 
were  marvels  of  beauty,  and  seemed  almost  conscious  of  the  thou 
sands  that  depended  on  their  wind  and  bottom.  But  I  cared  nothing 
for  racing,  and  soon  betook  myself  to  a  survey  of  the  amusements 
of  the  day.  Innumerable  booths  were  scattered  over  the  grounds, 
surmounted  with  flags  and  streamers,  some  for  public  refresh 
ments,  others  for  private  luncheons  ;  whilst  more  were  occupied 
by  betting-men  intent  on  making  their  'pile/  True  to  their 
commercial  instincts,  the  English  love  to  extract  profit  even 
from  their  pleasures.  Much  as  they  delight  in  racing,  additional 
zest  is  derived  from  the  betting  that  accompanies  it.  The  stakes 


London.  1 9 1 


that  change  hands  on  the  Derby  are  something  startling,  and 
from  thousands  of  pounds  down  to  shillings  all  classes  embark 
in  the  lottery.  Go  where  you  may  to  dine  in  London  the  eve 
of  the  Derby,  you  are  gaily  invited  by  the  ladies  to  join  in  their 
sweepstakes  on  the  *  favourites/  and  palpitating  hearts  await 
the  result. 

In  wandering  over  the  field  I  encountered  great  numbers  of 
gipsy  women,  who  readily  volunteered  their  services  to  unravel 
the  mysteries  of  Fate.  You  had  only  to  stretch  out  your  hand, 
with  a  piece  of  money  in  it,  and  all  the  luck  in  store  for  you 
would  be  at  once  revealed.  These  sibyls  drove  a  brisk  trade  on 
the  Derby-day.  Not  a  few  of  them  were  handsome,  with  their 
dark  eyes,  swarthy  complexions,  lithe  figures,  and  Bohemian  air. 
Many  wore  a  gay  bandanna,  gracefully  arranged  and  partially 
enveloping  their  raven  hair.  This  strange  race  wandered  into 
Europe  from  Asia  in  the  fifteenth  century.  They  appeared  in 
England  in  Henry  VIII.'s  reign,  about  1512;  and,  in  spite  of 
cruel  laws  to  expel  them,  they  hid  away  in  holes  and  corners 
till  prejudice  had  died  away.  They  are  still  a  nomad  tribe, 
wandering  about  the  country,  without  homes  or  occupation,  and 
for  three  centuries  forming  a  caste  apart,  less  savage,  though 
hardly  more  civilised,  than  our  Indians  of  the  plains.  Gipsy 
men  or  children  are  never  seen  at  a  race  ;  but  all  the  pretty 
women  of  the  clan  are  despatched  thither,  and  with  seductive 
smiles  and  soft  words  seek  to  extract  an  oblation  from  the 
merry-makers,  who  now  regard  them  with  sympathy. 

After  making  a  circuit  of  the  shows,  Punch  and  Judy  in 
cluded,  my  attention  was  attracted  to  a  game  that  I  observed 
was  going  on  all  over  the  ground,  which  consisted  simply  of 
several  thimbles,  on  a  small  table,  concealing  a  pea,  which  the 
operator  moved  about  from  one  thimble  to  another  with  great 
dexterity,  and  invited  the  spectators  to  bet  on  its  hiding-place. 
Some  indicated  it  and  won,  while  others  lost.  This  was  new  to 
Williams  and  myself,  and,  after  inspecting  it  closely,  we  began 
to  bet.  To  our  surprise,  neither  of  us  could  ever  trace  the 
vagrant  pea ;  and,  after  I  had  lost  two  or  three  pounds,  I 
desisted  in  despair.  Williams,  however,  got  so  excited  over  it 
that,  after  losing  all  the  money  about  him,  he  proposed  to  stake 
his  watch,  which  happily  I  prevented.  In  relating  our  adventure 
to  some  friends  we  met,  they  told  us,  laughing,  we  had  been 
the  dupes  of  '  thimbleriggers,'  who  adroitly  extracted  the  pea 


192  London. 


from  the  thimble  bet  upon  with  some  adhesive  matter  on  their 
fingers. 

'  But  how  was  it,5  we  asked,  '  that  many  persons  won  almost 
invariably  ?' 

'  They  were  simply  confederates,  acting  as  decoy  ducks,'  was 
the  reply,  *  and  were  skilful  enough  to  entrap  you.' 

Williams  was  more  chapfallen  than  myself,  and  thanked  me 
for  saving  his  watch.* 

Just  before  we  left  a  tremendous  shout  announced  the  '  Derby 
Stakes'  had  been  decided,  and  none  of  the  '  favourites'  won.  It 
was  easy  to  recognise  in  the  joyous  faces  of  some,  and  in  the 
lugubrious  air  of  others,  who  had  drawn  prizes  and  who  had  got 
blanks. 

Shortly  after  this  excursion  I  started  on  a  visit  to  our  repre 
sentative  at  the  English  Court,  Mr.  Aaron  Vail.  This  gentle 
man,  previously  a  clerk  in  the  State  Department,  had  accom 
panied  Mr.  Van  Buren  as  secretary  when  he  came  as  envoy  to 
England.  On  the  abrupt  close  of  his  mission,  as  described,  Mr. 
Vail  was  left  behind  as  our  charge  d'affaires,  which  position  he 
had  now  filled  for  the  past  four  years.  Among  the  introduc 
tions  that  Vice-President  Van  Buren  had  favoured  me  with  was 
one  to  his prote'ge,  Mr.  Vail,  couched  in  the  heartiest  language; 
and  I  plumed  myself  vastly  on  the  advantages  of  such  a  recom 
mendation.  I  had  a  violent  longing  to  make  my  obeisance  to 
William  IV.,  and  beyond  that  to  penetrate  into  the  patrician 
saloons  of  the  most  exclusive  aristocracy  of  Europe.  My  fancy 
had  been  long  inflamed  by  the  highly-wrought  sketches  of 
Bulwer  and  Disraeli  of  their  manners  and  ways,  and  to  see  lords 
and  ladies  in  the  flesh,  I  thought,  would  be  little  else  than 
downright  bliss.  For  an  American,  with  neither  title  or  pedigree, 
to  effect  an  entrance  into  those  fairy  realms,  in  those  days,  with 
out  the  zealous  aid  of  his  diplomatic  representative,  was  about 
as  easy  as  for  the  biblical  camel  to  pass  through  the  eye  of  a 
needle  ;  and  I  was  all  the  more  grateful  to  Mr.  Van  Buren  for 
the  talisman  which  I  supposed  would  accomplish  my  object. 

On  presenting  my  letter  to  Mr.  Vail,  whom  I  found  living 
in  quiet  lodgings  in  a  retired  street,  I  was  a  little  subdued  by 
his  cold  and  formal  presence.  He  was  a  nice-looking  man,  with 
an  air  of  great  respectability,  but  precise  and  reserved,  as  he 
no  doubt  thought  became  his  dignity.  He  read  my  introduction 

*  This  knavish  game  was  later  forbidden  by  Act  of  Parliament 


London.  \  93 


carefully,  laid  it  down  gravely,  paused  a  moment,  and  then 
inquired  if  I  intended  to  remain  long  in  London.  My  imagina 
tion  took  fire  at  once,  for  I  inferred  from  this,  if  I  stayed  long 
enough,  my  going  to  Court  was  a  certainty.  I  replied  that  I 
was  master  of  my  own  time,  was  in  no  hurry  to  quit  London, 
and  especially  anxious  to  see  all  I  could  meanwhile.  Mr.  Vail 
nodded  calmly,  but  said  nothing,  which  a  trifle  disconcerted  me. 
In  my  blandest  manner  I  ventured  upon  a  few  remarks  on  the 
state  of  the  weather,  expecting  every  instant  the  imperturbable 
charge  would  suggest  the  sort  of  uniform  I  must  wear  at  the 
King's  levee.  But  to  my  surprise  he  did  not,  and  I  felt  that  I 
must  put  his  ruminations  to  flight  by  a  bold  attack.  Summoning 
up  my  pluck,  I  said,  with  a  genial  smile, 

'  It  would  afford  me  the  greatest  pleasure,  Mr.  Vail,  to  be 
presented  at  Court.' 

*  I  am  very  sorry/  he  answered,  though  he  did  not  look  it, 
*  but  fear  that  is  impossible,  unless  you  belong  to  the  army  or 
navy,  or  hold  an  official  position  in  civil  life.  No  other 
Americans  are  received  at  Court.' 

I  fell  headlong  from  the  heaven  of  my  expectations. 

'  Is  that  the  rule  ?'  I  blurted  out. 

'  It  is/  was  the  laconic  rejoinder. 

I  did  my  best  to  overcome  my  disappointment. 

'  Is  it  possible/  I  continued,  '  to  obtain  an  invitation  to  any 
of  the  balls  or  parties  of  the  nobility  taking  place  nightly  ?' 

At  this  Mr.  Vail  looked  astonished,  and  did  it  well. 

(  Have  you  brought  letters  to  any  of  them  ?'  he  inquired. 

'No.' 

'  Then/  he  said,  in  a  placid  tone, '  I  don't  see  how  it  is  possible.' 

My  visions  of  a  dip  in  '  high  life'  were  rudely  dispelled,  and 
I  was  conscious  that  I  had  been  building  castles  in  the  air  with 
out  thought  of  the  ladder  to  reach  them.  Yet  surely,  methought, 
I  have  a  claim  to  some  civility.  Will  this  callous  diplomat  pre 
sume  to  ignore  the  Vice-President's  indorsement?  I  will  try 
something  not  impracticable. 

'  I  should  like/  I  persisted  boldly, '  to  see  the  House  of  Lords, 
and  I  hear  a  ticket  is  necessary/ 

'It  is  ;  but  mine  is  unfortunately  engaged  for  some  days/ 
was  the  response. 

'  Can  you  get  me  into  the  House  of  Commons,  then?'  was  my 
next  demand. 


194  London. 


'  If  you  will  call  in  about  a  fortnight/  he  remarked,  after 
examining  a  paper  on  his  table,  *  perhaps  I  can  manage  it' 

I  was  astonished  and  indignant,  but  lingered  for  a  moment 
longer,  believing  he  meant  to  ask  me  to  dinner,  or  at  least  to 
breakfast,  a  cheaper  kind  of  hospitality.  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  de 
tected  no  symptoms  of  a  thaw,  and  bolted,  exclaiming  almost 
aloud,  as  I  regained  the  street,  '  That  man  is  first  cousin  to  an 
iceberg,  if  not  more  nearly  related.  Anything  so  frigid  and  hard 
I  never  met  in  human  shape.5 

The  sunshine  was  reviving  after  the  freezing  contact  I  had 
undergone.  A  week  later  he  left  his  card,  and  this  was  all  I  ever 
got  from  him. 

This  rebuff  changed  all  my  plans  in  a  trice.  I  had  seen  most 
of  London  that  was  accessible  to  a  stranger,  and  my  longings 
to  make  my  salaam  to  the  royal  head  of  the  Guelphs  were 
scattered  to  the  winds,  at  least  for  the  present.  I  was  bound 
sooner  or  later  to  see  something  of  the  rank  and  grandeur  of 
England's  aristocracy  ;  but  now,  instead  of  frittering  my  time  in 
London  or  Paris,  I  resolved  to  scour  Europe,  nor  stop  then.  I 
would  first  make  the  tour  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland,  and  then 
start  for  Russia,  cross  its  dreary  wastes  to  the  Black  Sea,  scram 
ble  over  that  by  hook  or  crook,  and  pop  my  nose  into  Stam- 
boul  in  spite  of  its  savoury  odours.  After  a  glance  at  its  houris, 
if  I  could  get  near  them,  I  would  make  my  way  to  Egypt,  and 
try  my  luck,  with  the  Sphinx.  They  could  hardly  be  more  re 
pelling  than  Mr.  Vail.  Thence  I  would  return  to  Europe,  and 
compare  Oriental  luxury  with  modern  civilisation. 

I  laid  my  project  before  Williams,  who  fell  back  horror- 
stricken  from  my  wild-goose  chase,  as  he  called  it. 

*  How  could  you  get  through  Russia  ?'  he  remarked  ;  '  there 
are  no  conveyances  beyond  Moscow.     As  for  skipping  over  the 
Black  Sea  you  talk  of  so  glibly,  you  must  trust  to  some  wretched 
craft  that  might  be  tossed  about  for  weeks.     To  reach  Egypt, 
you  must  travel  great  distances  by  land,  with  the  certainty  of 
being  robbed  by  the   Arabs,  and    the  chance  of  having  your 
throat  cut  into  the  bargain.     It  would  require  no  end  of  time 
and  money  that  I  can  employ  far  more  to  my  satisfaction.' 

'  Not  an  inviting  jaunt  as  you  paint  it,'  I  replied,  a  trifle  dis 
composed. 

'  Not  half  so  bad  as  you  will  find  it.' 

*  Then  you  won't  undertake  it  ?'  I  pursued. 


London. 


195 


'  Not  I  \pas  si  betel  sa-id  Williams  resolutely. 

This  was  a  sore  repulse,  for  I  had  travelled  so  long  and  plea 
santly  with  my  old  college  friend  that  parting  with  him  was  any 
thing  but  a  '  sweet  sorrow.'  Whom  could  I  find  to  accompany 
me  was  a  puzzle,  for  I  had  none  of  the  daring  spirit  of  Marco 
Polo,  and  shrank  from  such  a  journey  alone. 

There  was  yet  time  to  ponder  over  that ;  so  I  started  on  my 
last  trip  with  Williams,  and  made  the  round  proposed.  We 
visited  the  principal  cities  of  the  United  Kingdom,  looked  into 
their  manufacturing  hives,  and  concluded  that  the  open-air  life 
of  our  jolly  negroes  in  the  South  was  far  preferable  to  that  of  the 
pale-faced  and  over-worked  operatives  of  these  parts.  The 
sylvan  beauty  of  the  English  landscape  never  ceased  to  trans 
port  me.  Nothing  but  poetry,  and  that  the  most  sublime,  could 
do  it  justice. 

Then  the  old  castles  and  modern  palaces  of  the  nobility — the 
former  with  their  ages  of  history  and  romantic  associations  ;  the 
latter  with  their  treasures  of  art  and  dazzling  splendour.  Of  all  of 
them,  perhaps  Penshurst  Castle  affected  me  the  most.  In  one 
of  the  apartments  was  hanging  the  first  glass  chandelier  brought 
to  England  from  Venice,  and  presented  to  the  Earl  of  Leicester, 
then  living  there,  by  Queen  Bess.  In  the  grand  old  baronial 
hall  were  the  long  oaken  tables  used  by  the  retainers  of  the  do 
main,  standing  there  for  five  hundred  years  ;  and  in  the  centre 
was  the  fireplace  without  a  chimney,  the  smoke  escaping  through 
a  hole  in  the  lofty  roof. 

We  got  back  to  London  towards  the  end  of  July,  and  to  my 
delight  I  found  Forrest,  then  newly  arrived  from  Paris.  I  fixed 
upon  him  at  once  as  the  man  above  all  others  to  join  me  in  my 
crusade,  and  assailed  him  vigorously.  Like  Williams  he  retreated 
in  dismay  at  my  bold  enterprise,  and  enlarged  upon  its  draw 
backs.  Nothing  daunted  I  talked  of  the  '  vast  renown'  it  would 
confer  upon  him,  the  sensation  it  would  make  at  home,  and  the 
splendid  materials  it  would  furnish  to  his  biographer.  By  de 
grees  I  gained  upon  him,  and  followed  it  up  inch  by  inch.  At 
last  I  won  him  over,  and  he  agreed  to  take  the  leap.  Fearing  he 
would  change  his  mind,  I  proposed  to  set  out  forthwith ;  but  he 
named  the  5th  of  August,  and  I  was  content. 

'  But  first,'  he  said,  '  I  desire  you  to  dine  with  me  to-morrow 
at  a  friend's  house.  I  want  to  present  you  to — well,  no  matter  ; 
you  will  see.' 


1 96  London. 


I  assented  at  once.  Had  he  asked  me  at  that  moment  to 
climb  up  a  chimney,  I  would  not  have  baulked  him. 

The  next  day  I  drove  with  Forrest  to  Alfred-place,  and  was 
rejoiced  to  meet  Sinclair,  the  celebrated  tenor,  whose  triumphant 
tour  in  the  United  States  three  years  previously  I  well  remem 
bered.  The  thrilling  sweetness  of  his  voice  and  his  artistic  skill  had 
captivated  thousands  at  home  and  abroad.  His  ballad-singing  was 
never  equalled.  He  was  a  most  genial  and  gentlemanly  man, 
and  handsome  to  boot.  He  descended  from  an  old  Scotch 
family.  I  soon  discovered,  however,  '  metal  more  attractive.' 
Forrest  presented  me  to  Kate,  his  eldest  daughter,  barely  nineteen, 
strikingly  handsome,  with  engaging  manners,  and  as  intelligent 
as  she  was  accomplished.  I  enjoyed  my  dinner  immensely,  and 
over  the  dessert  Sinclair  gave  us  a  rare  treat  by  singing  some  of 
his  delightful  ditties.  '  John  Anderson,  my  joe,  John/  brought 
tears  to  my  eyes,  and  Forrest  seemed  in  quite  a  '  melting  mood/ 
though  I  suspected  the  sparkling  eyes  of  the  daughter  were  more 
powerful  solvents  than  the  liquid  notes  of  her  father's  voice. 

Midnight  soon  overtook  us,  and  as  we  walked  home  toge 
ther  I  lauded  to  the  skies  the  beauty  and  sweetness  of  the  fair 
Kate. 

1  O,  if  she  were  only  an  American  !'  sighed  Forrest. 

'  What  then  ?'  I  queried. 

'  I  would  marry  her  to-morrow,  if  she  were  of  the  same 
mind.' 

'  What  nonsense  !'  I  declared.  '  She  is  just  as  good  as  an 
American,  and  talks  English  better  than  most  of  us.  It  is  not 
her  fault  if  she  was  born  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  Atlantic.' 

'  True,  most  veritable/  he  answered,  in  a  doleful  strain  ;  '  but  I 
am  resolved.  None  but  an  American  for  me.' 

I  saw  he  was  enmeshed,  and  felt  sure,  in  spite  of  all  his  kicks 
and  plunges,  he  would  be  broken  to  harness  and  made  one  of  a 
pair  at  no  distant  day. 

On  my  last  Sunday  in  London  I  cheerfully  joined  Mrs. 
Dunlop  and  her  sprightly  niece  in  a  visit  to  the  Zoological 
Gardens.  More  than  once  I  thought  if  I  had  been  a  marrying 
man  I  should  have  laid  myself  and  all  appertaining  at  Miss 
Gamble's  tiny  feet  until  I  rose  her  accepted  suitor.  There  was  a 
witchery  in  her  roguish  eyes  that  attracted  and  alarmed.  Little 
did  I  foresee  the  mischief  they  would  do  me  one  day.  These 
renowned  Gardens  were  then  the  favourite  resort  of  the  beau 


London.  197 


monde,  and  on  Sunday  the  admission  was  only  by  vouchers. 
The  grounds  were  wonderful  specimens  of  landscape  gardening 
— delicious  patches  of  bright  turf,  ornamental  sheets  of  water 
spanned  by  pretty  bridges,  sequestered  alleys,  and  broad  gravel 
walks  smooth  as  marble.  Even  these  were  secondary  to  the 
brilliant  company  flitting  over  them.  What  splendid  women 
and  well-dressed  stylish  men  compose  the  upper  class  of  this 
country ! 

There  was  one  woman  I  remarked  everybody  was  glancing 
at,  and  I  did  not  wonder.  She  was  a  marvel.  A  brunette,  with 
lustrous  glowing  eyes  that  seemed  almost  to  scorch  the  object 
they  lit  upon  ;  a  stately  height  and  proud  air,  and  something 
singularly  defiant  in  her  mien.  Groups  of  men  were  about  her. 
My  curiosity  was  excited,  and  I  asked  Mrs.  Dunlop,  '  Who  is 
that  superb  creature  ?' 

'That  is  Mrs.  Norton.' 

*  Good  gracious  !'  I  exclaimed  ;  *  Mrs.  Norton  the  authoress, 
the  granddaughter  of  Sheridan,  the  heroine — ?'  I  stopped 
abruptly. 

'  Yes/  returned  Mrs.  Dunlop,  smiling  ;  '  the  same/ 

I  now  understood  why  every  head  was  turned  as  she  passed. 
Of  all  the  plucky  things  any  woman  ever  did  was  the  appearance 
of  Mrs.  Norton  in  the  '  Zoo'  that  very  Sunday  afternoon.  Only  the 
night  before,  the  jury  had  acquitted  Lord  Melbourne,  the  Prime 
Minister,  who  was  charged  by  the  Hon.  Mr.  Norton  with  crim. 
con.  with  his  wife.  The  evidence  on  the  trial  was  of  the  most 
prurient  description,  and  all  London  had  banqueted  on  it  for  a 
week.  Both  plaintiff  and  defendant  were  known  to  the  whole 
world,  and  were  the  creme  de  la  creme.  That  very  morning 
men  were  running  about  the  streets  with  special  editions,  dese 
crating  the  day  by  yelling  out,  '  Acquittal  of  Lord  Melbourne  of 
adultery  with  Mrs.  Norton  ;'  and  in  the  face  of  this  dire  publicity 
the  lovely  cause  of  all  the  pother  was  promenading  up  and  down 
the  broad  walk  of  the  Zoo. 

She  thought  it  politic  to  brave  the  scandal ;  and  what  an 
effort  it  must  have  cost  her!  It  was  supposed  that  political 
motives  were  at  the  bottom  of  the  prosecution  ;  for  Mr.  Norton, 
heir  to  Lord  Grantley,  was  a  Tory,  and  hoped  to  upset  the  Whig 
Ministry,  of  which  Lord  Melbourne  was  the  head.  I  knew  Mrs. 
Norton  well  in  later  years,  and  often  feasted  on  her  brilliant  con 
versation. 


198  London. 


At  midnight  on  the  4th  of  August  I  welcomed  Forrest  on  the 
deck  of  the  '  John  Bull'  steamer  bound  to  Hamburg.  I  never 
doubted  his  word,  of  which  he  was  very  tenacious  ;  but  it  was 
pleasant  to  find  him  at  my  side  at  the  critical  moment.  The 
weather  was  lovely,  and  we  paced  up  and  down  as  our  vessel 
descended  the  Thames.  We  talked  of  London,  its  crowds,  its 
splendour.  Then  discoursed  of  Kate  and  her  various  attractions. 
I  told  him  of  Miss  Gamble  and  her  winning  ways.  Finally  we 
both  began  to  yawn,  and  betook  ourselves  to  our  bunks. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

HAMBURG. 

THE  OPERA  ON  POST-NIGHTS—IMPRISONED  SIRENS — DANCING-HOUSES— 
A  COUNTRY  FETE. 

AFTER  rolling  about  in  the  North  Sea  for  a  couple  of  days,  we 
found  ourselves,  on  the  third  morning,  running  up  the  Elbe, 
whose  picturesque  banks,  sprinkled  with  graceful  villas,  were 
highly  attractive.  I  blessed  the  potentate,  without  knowing  who 
he  was,  that  made  Hamburg  a  free  port — one  of  five  in  the 
world  ;  and  my  first  step  on  German  soil  will  be  for  ever  plea 
santly  associated  with  my  immunity  from  custom-house  inquisi- 
tiveness.  After  the  torment  I  had  suffered  for  months  from  the 
prying  officials  that  met  me  on  every  new  frontier,  it  was  truly 
delightful  to  drive  away  without  having  my  portmanteau  ran 
sacked,  and  possibly  some  of  my  precious  property  confiscated, 
without  daring  to  cry  '  Thieves  !' 

After  despatching  a  good  dinner  at  the  Hotel  de  Russie, 
we  went  off  to  the  opera  to  hear  the  Barber  of  Seville.  I  was 
surprised  at  the  size  and  elegance  of  the  house,  not  surpassed 
by  any  in  Paris  or  London.  It  was  well  filled  by  a  showy 
audience,  but  I  remarked  that  many  of  the  private  boxes  were 
empty,  which  was  explained  by  my  cicerone,  who  announced  it 
was  '  post-night'  The  mail  to  England  was  then  transmitted 
every  ten  days  by  steamer  ;  and  the  busy  merchants  of  Hamburg 
made  pleasure  subsidiary  to  business,  by  staying  at  home  to 
write  letters  on  '  post-nights.'  This  reminded  me  that  the  aris 
tocracy  of  the  place  was  all  commercial,  and  very  unlike  that  of 
the  towns  I  had  hitherto  visited,  whose  only  end  in  life  was 
amusement,  and  who  knew  nothing,  therefore,  of  the  exciting 
distractions  of  a  *  post-night/ 

Next  day  we  wandered  about  Hamburg,  which  traces  its 
origin  back  to  809  A.D.,  near  seven  centuries  before  America  was 
discovered  ;  and  its  quaint  unpretending  architecture  smacks  of 
the  Middle  Ages,  whence  it  emerged.  There  were  some  fine 


2oo  Hamburg. 


streets  and  stately  mansions,  but  nothing  very  curious,  save  the 
ancient  State-house,  with  niches  all  over  it  filled  with  wooden 
statues,  painted  white,  of  renowned  citizens  of  other  days. 

In  rambling  about  we  traversed  a  long  street,  where  at  all  the 
windows  were  seated  many  pretty  women,  decked  out  in  their 
best,  who  smiled  and  nodded  in  the  most  gracious  manner  as 
we  passed.  Thinking  it  was  the  custom  of  the  place,  I  began 
raising  my  hat  to  these  fair  dames  ;  but  my  guide  told  me  this 
civility  was  unnecessary,  as  they  were  simply  ladies  of  the  town, 
who,  not  being  allowed  to  parade  their  charms  in  the  streets,  as 
in  London  and  Paris,  were  in  the  habit,  at  certain  hours  of  the 
day,  of  exhibiting  themselves  in  this  fashion  to  wayfarers.  I  had 
seen  nothing  of  the  sort  elsewhere,  and  was  struck  by  its  singu 
larity.  Chaque  pays  chaque  mode,  I  involuntarily  repeated  ;  and 
truly  the  oddities  of  different  countries  are  a  constant  marvel  to 
travellers. 

At  the  table  d'hbte  one  evening  I  fell  into  conversation  with 
a  pleasant  Englishman  returning  home  from  just  such  a  trip  as 
we  contemplated.  He  warned  us  against  carrying  any  superfluous 
luggage  ;  and  we  decided,  therefore,  to  get  rid  of  all  impedimenta 
in  the  shape  of  portmanteaus  and  hat-boxes,  which  we  sent  back 
to  London,  and  provided  ourselves  instead  with  capacious  carpet 
bags  that  could  on  occasion  be  slung  over  a  horse.  In  addition, 
Forrest  took  it  into  his  head  to  buy  a  double-barrelled  gun, 
which,  he  said,  would  afford  amusement,  and  perhaps  be  valu 
able  for  defence,  in  the  '  barking  deserts.' 

The  most  novel  feature  of  Hamburg  was  the  dancing- 
houses,  which  contained  spacious  saloons  for  this  favourite 
German  pastime,  brilliantly  lighted  and  decorated,  besides  a 
good  restaurant,  with  private  supper-rooms.  They  were  crowded 
every  night  with  the  people  of  the  town,  chiefly  of  the  middle 
class,  who  came  hither  in  quest  of  a  pleasant  evening.  The 
fathers  of  the  family  drank  beer  and  smoked  ;  the  mothers 
knitted  and  gossipped ;  whilst  the  young  folks  devoted  themselves 
vigorously  to  the  mazy  waltz,  the  national  dance.  I  was  much 
struck  by  the  rare  beauty  of  these  Hamburg  girls — light-brown 
hair,  blue  eyes,  fair  complexions,  and  round  well-developed 
figures.  They  were  as  amiable  and  unaffected  as  pretty,  and  as 
it  was  the  custom  to  dance  with  all  who  offered,  a  stranger  never 
stood  in  need  of  a  partner.  If  he  were  particularly  charmed 
with  her  society,  she  seldom  objected  to  join  him  over  the 


Hamburg.  201 


supper-table,  and  then  return  smiling  and  contented  to  the 
family  group.  These  pleasant  reunions  were  wholly  unlike  those 
boisterous  gatherings  I  described  in  Paris,  where  all  was  wild 
revelry  and  noise.  Here  quiet  and  good  order  prevailed,  though 
far  from  lacking  animation.  There  were  ill-natured  travellers 
who  declared  that  the  morals  of  Hamburg  were  as  free  as  its 
port,  and  that  many  of  the  young  women,  apparently  guileless, 
who  attended  these  gay  dancing  soir/es,  were  by  no  means  im 
maculate.  As  far  as  my  observation  went,  I  should  set  these 
assertions  down  as  calumnies. 

During  my  stay,  whilst  sauntering  through  one  of  these  plea 
sant  resorts,  my  valet  de  place  approached  me  with  the  master  of 
the  place,  who  said,  hearing  I  was  an  American,  he  desired  greatly 
to  know  if  I  could  tell  him  anything  of  a  brother  of  his,  who 
had  emigrated  to  New  York.  After  hearing  his  name,  and  every 
possible  detail,  I  was  obliged  to  confess  I  knew  nothing  about 
him.  He  then  added  that  he  had  acquired  a  small  capital,  and 
was  disposed  to  follow  his  brother's  example,  but  would  like  a 
hint  as  to  how  he  could  best  employ  it.  On  inquiring  into  his 
aptitudes,  I  found  he  had  been  brought  up  as  a  butcher  ;  but  his 
love  of  music  tempted  him  to  forsake  his  early  calling,  and  by 
degrees  he  found  himself  the  leader  of  an  orchestra,  and  finally 
the  lessee  of  a  dancing-house.  After  duly  pondering  over  this 
weighty  matter,  I  suggested  he  could  hardly  do  better  in 
America  than  profit  by  his  past  experience,  and  devote  his  days 
to  the  meat-market,  whilst  his  nights  might  be  profitably  em 
ployed  in  fiddling  at  some  of  the  theatres.  My  advice  met  his 
views  exactly,  and  his  acknowledgments  knew  no  bounds.  He 
offered  to  present  me  forthwith  to  the  prettiest  girls  in  the  room, 
and  to  back  me  with  his  utmost  influence.  Hardly  knowing 
what  this  meant,  or  where  it  might  lead  me,  I  thanked  him,  and 
walked  away. 

Driving  out  one  afternoon  to  dine  at  a  restaurant  a  mile  or 
so  from  the  town,  I  encountered  a  cavalcade  of  peasants  of 
both  sexes,  singing  and  capering  about  right  merrily.  One  jolly 
fellow,  mounted  astride  a  hogshead  in  a  cart,  represented  the 
Bacchus  of  the  ffte.  It  reminded  me  of  what  I  had  read  of 
similar  processions  in  the  old  Roman  times,  showing  that  a 
couple  of  thousand  years  have  little  effect  on  the  usages  and 
pastimes  of  nations. 

Altogether  I  was  gaily  impressed  with  Hamburg,  and  con- 


202  Hamburg. 


eluded  a  traveller  could  hardly  go  amiss  who  wandered  within 
its  pleasant  precincts.  Its  government  consisted  of  an  elective 
Senate,  whose  sovereignty  extended  no  farther  than  the  town, 
with  a  few  neighbouring  villages,  comprising  some  200,000  people 
in  all,  It  was  wedged  in  between  Hanover  and  the  Duchy  of 
Holstein,  and  it  was  only  a  wonder  it  had  not  been  swallowed 
up  before  then. 


CHAPTER  XXL 

ST.  PETERSBURG. 

THE  BALTIC — THE  U.S.  MINISTER — PALACES — CHURCHES — THE  ROMANOFFS. 

WE  left  Hamburg  after  breakfast  for  Liibeck,  a  distance  of 
only  thirty-eight  miles,  where  we  arrived  at  eleven  at  night,  over 
the  worse  road  I  had  met  in  Europe.  I  was  restored  to  good- 
humour  by  not  being  detained  as  usual  at  a  custom-house,  for 
Liibeck  had  also  been  a  free  city  since  1226.  In  the  morning 
I  made  a  rapid  survey  of  the  town,  which  is  nearly  as  old  as  its 
rival  on  the  Elbe,  and  resembles  it  in  most  respects,  architecture 
included.  It  was  governed  likewise  by  a  Senate, who  reigned  over 
a  territory  containing  some  50,000  inhabitants.  Even  diminutive 
Hamburg  might  hold  up  its  head  alongside  its  pigmy  rival. 

In  the  afternoon  we  set  off  for  Travesmunde,  the  port  of 
Liibeck,  on  the  Baltic.  Here  we  lounged  about  the  hotel  for  an 
hour  or  two,  waiting  for  the  moment  of  embarkation.  A  comical 
incident  helped  to  divert  my  mind.  Forrest  was  attacked  by 
thirst,  and  called  for  a  bottle  of  Moselle.  After  waiting  for  some 
time  his  impatience  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he  began  to  storm 
at  the  landlord.  'I  say,  Mr.  what's-your-name,'  he  cried,  'did 
you  ever  hear  of  Job  ?'  and  was  going  on  to  say  that  even  that 
placid  personage  would  not  have  brooked  such  delay  ;  but  before 
he  could  utter  the  words  the  landlord  came  up  to  him  with  a 
puzzled  look,  and  repeated,  '  Job  !  I  never  heard  of  him.  Does 
he  live  about  here  ?'  I  found  this  joke  far  more  palatable  than 
the  wine  when  it  came  at  last 

It  was  a  lovely  evening  as  we  steamed  out  into  the  Baltic  in 
a  large  and  comfortable  vessel  bound  for  the  Russian  capital. 
We  had  sixty  and  odd  passengers,  and  I  soon  made  my  selec 
tion.  There  was  an  agreeable  Russian  lady,  with  no  less  than 
six  children  on  her  hands,  the  eldest  not  over  fifteen.  What 
surprised  me  was  that  all  of  them  spoke  several  languages  ;  and 
I  found  it  was  the  custom  in  the  best  families  to  employ  gover 
nesses,  who  taught  the  children  from  their  earliest  years  to  lisp 


2O4  -$*/.  Petersburg. 


most  of  the  European  tongues,  for  the  chief  reason  that  no 
foreigner  ever  studied  Russian.  The  greater  part  of  the  four 
days  I  was  on  board  I  passed  in  the  charming  society  of  a 
very  pretty  Russian  girl  just  seventeen.  She  was  exceedingly 
intelligent  and  well  read.  I  talked  with  her,  walked  and  played 
chess  with  her,  till  I  heartily  wished  it  were  possible  to  carry  her 
off  as  a  solace  to  my  long  journey,  and  told  her  so ;  whereat  she 
smiled  pleasantly.  The  Baltic  was  on  its  best  behaviour,  and 
after  a  speedy  run  we  brought  up,  on  August  17,  at  Oonstadt,  the 
port  of  St.  Petersburg.  It  had  far  more  the  air  of  a  great  naval 
station,  for  forts  and  batteries  and  ships  of  war  stared  you  every 
where  in  the  face.  Here  we  were  inundated  by  a  swarm  of 
officials,  who  all  set  actively  to  work  on  their  different  errands. 
Some  demanded  passports  ;  others  attacked  the  luggage,  tied  it 
up  and  sealed  it ;  whilst  another  batch  pulled  out  their  pens  and 
paper,  and  began  writing  as  though  the  safety  of  the  empire 
depended  on  it.  After  three  hours  of  this  kind  of  work  they 
vanished,  and  left  us  free  to  pursue  our  way  rejoicing. 

We  soon  began  ascending  the  Neva,  a  splendid  river;  and  as 
we  advanced  the  capital  of  the  Czars  hove  in  sight.  The  first  im 
pression  is  very  striking.  The  magnificent  stone  quays  on  both 
sides  of  the  river,  the  multitude  of  bridges,  the  numerous  steamers 
darting  hither  and  thither,  the  masses  of  buildings  uniform  in 
height  and  colour,  all  astonish  and  delight  the  traveller  as  he 
approaches  this  very  fine  town.  St.  Petersburg  rfas  the  advan 
tage  of  having  been  built  to  order.  Its  founder,  Peter  the  Great,, 
felt  the  necessity  of  establishing  a  maritime  connection  between 
his  remote  empire  and  the  rest  of  the  world  ;  and  so,  selecting  a 
suitable  spot  on  the  Neva  in  1763,  he  stamped  his  foot,  and 
forthwith  sprang  up  the  youngest  city  in  Europe.  The  old 
capital  of  the  Russias,  Moscow,  was  at  that  day  almost  inacces 
sible  to  Europe,  and  the  sagacious  Peter  desired  to  establish 
closer  relations. 

I  got  through  the  dreaded  scrutiny  at  the  custom-house 
better  than  I  expected.  All  books,  I , observed,  were  taken  away, 
duly  examined,  ^and  perhaps  returned.  The  authorities  had 
great  fear  of  foreign  diseases  in  the  shape  of  poisonous  literature. 
Hearing  that  the  Russian  hotels  were  far  from  luxurious,  I  be 
took  myself  to  an  excellent  English  house  in  the  hands  of  an 
honest  John  Bull,  where  a  tidy  room  and  a  good  meal  could  be 
counted  on. 


St.  Petersburg.  205 


To  my  great  satisfaction,  I  found  our  Minister,  the  Hon. 
William  Wilkins,  living  here  ;  and  I  hastened  next  morning  to 
present  my  letter  from  his  old  colleague  in  the  Senate,  Vice- 
President  Van  Buren.  I  took  an  immense  liking  to  Mr.  Wilkins, 
as  all  did  who  approached  him.  He  was  a  high-toned  gentle 
man  of  the  old  school,  urbane  and  refined.  His  pale  visage  and 
blue  eyes  were  full  of  benignity,  and  his  manner  gentle  and 
graceful.  He  was  a  pleasing  talker,  and  related  events  and 
anecdotes  often  with  great  animation.  He  seemed  to  take  a 
fancy  to  me,  and  invited  me  one  day  to  pass  the  winter  at  St. 
Petersburg,  offering  to  attach  me  to  the  Legation.  This  was  a 
huge  temptation,  for  a  diplomatic  position  would  have  given  me 
access  to  all  that  was  grand  and  gorgeous  in  Russian  society. 
Alas,  it  was  impossible  to  accept  this  seductive  proposal  after 
inducing  my  friend  Forrest  to  undertake  the  novel  trip  I  had 
suggested.  Besides,  it  was  likely  my  only  opportunity  of  seeing 
the  out-of-the-way  countries  I  proposed  to  explore.  Court  fetes 
and  fine  people  I  might  have  other  chances  to  behold. 

I  passed  ten  days  in  St.  Petersburg,  and  was  engaged  from 
morn  to  night  in  surveying  its  prominent  features.  The  imperial 
palaces  were  really  very  grand.  We  were  permitted  to  inspect 
them,  and,  though  the  Emperor  was  absent,  it  was  requisite  to 
put  on  evening  dress.  This  seemed  absurd  enough,  but  eti 
quette  must  be  enforced.  The  Hermitage  was  splendid  ;  but  I 
was  chiefly  attracted  by  its  pictures.  Those  of  the  Dutch  school 
especially  were  all  gems.  There  was  a  collection  of  jewelry  too, 
in  glass  cases,  that  dazzled  the  vision.  The  Winter  Palace,  the 
principal  residence  of  the  Emperor,  is  considered  the  largest  in 
Europe.  Its  magnificence  is  staggering.  One  apartment  — 
St.  George's  Hall — is  140  feet  long  and  60  feet  wide,  surrounded 
by  forty  marble  columns  of  great  height,  in  double  rows,  with 
pedestals  and  capitals  richly  gilt.  What  an  arena  for  a  waltz  ! 
Another  apartment  was  illuminated  by  a  chandelier  with  362 
lamps.  This  palace  could  accommodate  1000  inmates. 

In  one  of  its  rooms  Paul,  the  grandfather  of  the  reigning 
monarch,  was  strangled  during  the  night  in  1801.  His  tyranny 
was  so  insupportable,  and  his  policy  considered  so  fatal,  that  a 
band  of  nobles,  with  Count  Pahlen  at  their  head,  determined  to 
get  rid  of  him.  The  Emperor  was  in  bed,  when  he  heard  a  fracas 
at  the  door,  where  the  sentry  was  murdered.  In  another  mo 
ment  the  conspirators  rushed  in.  The  unfortunate  Paul  had 


2o6  St.  Petersburg. 


concealed  himself  under  the  bed  ;  but  he  was  dragged  out  and 
put  to  death.  The  next  morning  his  son  Alexander  mounted 
the  throne,  and  there  was  an  end  of  the  matter.  One  of  the 
caprices  of  this  Russian  Gesler  was  that  all  should  drop  on 
their  knees  as  he  passed,  and  if  in  a  carriage  descend  im 
mediately. 

I  made  the  round  of  the  churches,  but  they  were  insigni 
ficant  after  Rome.  One  of  them  was  modelled  upon  St.  Peter's, 
but  was  paltry  in  comparison.  The  interior  looked  imposing 
with  its  display  of  columns  ;  but  instead  of  marble  they  were 
imitations  in  scagliola.  In  all  of  them  there  were  numberless 
pictures  of  saints  pasted  over  with  gilding,  which  no  doubt 
added  to  their  sanctity  in  the  eyes  of  the  worshippers,  generally 
of  the  lowest  class,  who  were  prostrated  before  them  in  heaps, 
some  on  their  knees,  others  at  full  length.  The  superstition  of 
the  Russian  people  surpasses  that  of  the  Italian,  conclusive  in 
both  cases  of  their  abject  ignorance. 

The  Greek  religion  of  Russia  differs  little  from  the  Latin 
or  Catholic  Church,  save  that  the  Czar  is  its  spiritual  head 
instead  of  the  Pope.  This  schism  occurred  in  the  ninth  cen 
tury.  The  Greek  Church  is  divided  into  numerous  sects,  and 
the  religious  sentiment  is  said  to  be  stronger  in  Russia  than  in 
any  other  country,  which  some  attribute  to  the  suppression  of  all 
political  and  literary  development. 

The  public  edifices  are  on  a  colossal  scale,  and  some  of 
good  proportions.  The  Exchange  is  fashioned  after  that  of 
Paris,  but  the  marble  pillars  of  the  original  are  copied  in  stucco. 
Peter  and  his  successors  endeavoured  to  give  St.  Petersburg  an 
air  of  great  splendour,  but  for  want  of  money  and  marble  had 
employed  cheap  material,  and  concealed  it  with  whitewash.  The 
streets  were  straight  and  wide  ;  many  of  them  would  throw  the' 
avenues  of  Washington  into  the  shade  ;  and  with  the  lofty 
houses  skirting  them,  and  the  numerous  immense  squares,  were 
certainly  impressive.  At  last,  however,  you  were  wearied  by  the 
monotonous  uniformity,  and  began  to  long  for  a  narrow  or  a 
crooked  street,  or  even  a  back  alley — something  to  break  the 
tiresome  repetition. 

The  costume  of  the  lower  classes  was  odd,  if  not  picturesque. 
The  better  sort  wore  a  tunic  of  blue  cloth  down  to  their  feet, 
fastened  round  the  middle  by  a  coloured  sash.  A  lower  strata 
were  enveloped  in  sheepskin,  the  woolly  side  turned  in  during 


St.  Petersburg.  207 


cold  weather.  Their  faces  were  half  concealed  in  hair,  and 
their  beards  covered  the  breast.  A  barber  would  be  driven  to 
despair  in  this  country,  for  the  majority  of  Russians  shave  little 
<?r  never. 

Most  of  the  lower  class  in  the  towns,  and  all  of  them  in  the 
country,  were  serfs,  and  in  the  condition  of  servitude  of  the 
common  people  throughout  Europe  during  the  Middle  Ages. 
Should  the  nineteenth  century  make  its  way  into  Russia,  one 
of  its  first  edicts  would  be  the  abolition  of  serfdom.  A  great 
outcry  was  made  over  our  enslaved  blacks  ;  but  here  were  millions 
of  the  Caucasian  race  in  bondage  since  centuries,  and  nobody  in 
Europe  ever  mentioned  it.*  What  a  funny  world  ! 

The  Russian  horses  are  small,  but  well  shaped  and  fleet.  The 
vehicle  chiefly  seen  in  the  streets  is  called  a  '  drosky/  and  un 
like  any  I  had  ever  seen.  It  consists  of  a  seat  running  length 
wise,  on  which  you  sit  astride.  The  driver  is  perched  on  a 
little  box,  enveloped  in  the  universal  tunic,  with  a  low  bell- 
crowned  hat.  There  is  usually  one  horse  only  in  the  shafts, 
with  another,  not  drawing  but  galloping,  alongside.  The  effect 
is  novel  and  pretty. 

I  found  St.  Petersburg  indescribably  dull.  Philadelphia  of 
a  Sunday  was  lively  in  comparison.  August,  they  said,  was  the 
most  torpid  month  of  the  year.  Not  only  were  the  aristocracy 
absent,  but,  to  my  horror,  I  could  find  no  place  of  amusement. 
The  theatres  were  all  shut,  and  there  were  neither  concerts,  or 
balls,  or  any  diversion  to  be  found.  I  yearned  for  an  evening  at 
Hamburg. 

Another  dreadful  shock  was  the  universal  ugliness  of  the 
women,  at  least  of  those  I  encountered  in  the  street.  It  might 
be  the  effect  of  this  rigorous  climate,  but  look  which  way  I 
would,  I  observed  nothing  but  shrivelled  skins,  bad  complexions, 
flat  Calmuck  features,  and  eyes  without  expression.  A  sojourn 
of  ten  days  with  all  the  best  people  away  was  hardly  sufficient, 
however,  to  justify  a  final  verdict  on  Russian  beauty  at  St. 
Petersburg. 

I  should  think  one  might  be  very  comfortable  here  in  winter, 
in  spite  of  the  terrible  climate.  The  windows  were  all  double, 
and  in  every  room  and  corridor  were  square  porcelain  stoves,  of 
various  sizes,  in  which  wood  was  burnt.  Once  heated  they  re 
mained  so  for  hours,  and  the  temperature  was  kept  up  to  65 

*  In  1 86 1  serfdom  was  modified  rather  than  abolished. 


208  St.  Petersburg. 


degrees  Fahrenheit  day  and  night  It  must  be  very  pleasant  to 
live  in  a  house  at  a  uniform  warmth  throughout.  At  home  it 
was  agonising  in  winter  to  pass  from  a  comfortable  room  into  a 
freezing  hall. 

Paris,  I  thought,  presented  a  military  aspect,  but  it  was 
eclipsed  by  that  of  St.  Petersburg.  Marching,  drilling,  and 
reviewing  were  eternally  going  on,  and  it  was  not  mere  idle 
show  either.  It  was  clear  the  Emperor  meant  to  carry  on  the 
policy  bequeathed  by  his  predecessors.  He  remembered  when 
Peter  ascended  the  throne,  1689,  Russia  possessed  but  one  sea 
port,  Archangel  in  the  White  Sea,  closed  by  ice  for  eight  months 
of  the  year.  Since  then  the  Romanoffs  had  added  a  thousand 
miles  to  their  coast  in  the  Baltic,  to  say  nothing  of  the  finest  ter 
ritories  of  the  Black  Sea,  and  their  acquisitions  in  the  Caspian 
and  Aral  Seas.  Their  flag  even  floated  on  the  Pacific.  An  army 
and  navy  of  great  strength  were  requisite  to  extend  these  con 
quests,  and  these  Nicholas  was  straining  every  nerve  to  obtain. 
The  whole  empire  was  only  a  barrack,  and  every  man  was  re 
quired  to  be  a  soldier  or  sailor.  The  Emperor's  eldest  son,  then 
seventeen,  was  allowed  none  but  a  military  garb,  and  forbidden 
to  think  of  anything  but  military  topics.  He  was  daily  drilled 
by  his  warlike  father,  and  even  the  Princesses  were  obliged  to 
be  present  at  all  reviews. 

With  such  a  man  conquest  was  the  breath  of  his  nostrils. 
Turkey  and  Sweden  stopped  his  way  to  the  Atlantic,  and  one  of 
them  he  felt  bound  to  conquer.  As  Turkey  offered  most  attrac 
tion,  his  attention  was  directed  there.  In  1827  he  was  cunning 
enough  to  get  France  and  England  to  assist  him  to  destroy  the 
Turkish  fleet  at  Navarino,  under  the  pretext  of  effecting  the  inde 
pendence  of  Greece.  The  next  year  he  took  the  Ottomite  by  the 
throat,  d  la  Othello,  and  smote  him  hard,  returning  home  with  a 
rich  slice  of  Asia,  the  mouths  of  the  Danube,  and  the  protector 
ate  of  the  Danubian  Provinces  in  his  pocket.  In  1832  he 
adroitly  protected  the  Sultan  against  his  rebel  f  assal,  the  Pasha 
of  Egypt,  and  asked  in  return  that  the  Straits  of  the  Darda 
nelles  should  be  closed  to  all  other  nations.  '  That  is,  bar  the 
door,  good  Turk,  against  any  interference,  and  I  will  cut  you  up  at 
my  leisure.'  It  seemed  manifest  destiny  that  Russia  should  make 
her  Christmas  dinner  on  Turkey,  until  the  last  morsel  was  swal 
lowed.  Would  that  content  her  ?  Or  is  the  world  destined  to 
become,  as  Napoleon  predicted, '  either  Cossack  or  Republican'  ? 


6V.  Petersburg.  209 


I  regretted  the  Emperor  had  gone  on  a  trip  to  Germany, 
else  Mr.  Wilkins  would  have  presented  me.  I  should  have  liked 
to  have  contemplated  this  great  monarch,  who  ruled  despotic 
ally  over  the  vastest  empire  of  the  globe.*  Though  only  a  man 
with  the  same  complement  of  limbs  and  organs,  still,  as  the  em 
bodiment  of  such  stupendous  dominion,  he  would  have  been  a 
sight  not  met  with  every  day.  But  Nicholas  had  physical  and 
moral  advantages  besides.  He  was  considered  one  of  the  hand 
somest  men  in  Europe,  and  for  industry  and  energy  had  no 
superior.  In  his  private  life  he  was  the  first  of  his  dynasty  to  set 
an  example  of  strict  decorum,  for  he  was  a  model  husband  and 
father. 

His  ancestors  seem  never  to  have  read  the  seventh  command 
ment.  Catherine  I.,  originally  a  peasant,  and  wife  of  a  private 
soldier,  became  the  mistress  of  General  MenzikofT.  His  master 
Peter,  struck  by  her  beauty,  took  possession  of  her,  and,  after 
several  years,  married  her.  Catherine  survived  him  two  years, 
during  which  she  renewed  her  old  relations  with  MenzikofT.  The 
latter  began  life  as  a  pastrycook ;  but  Peter  took  a  fancy  to 
him,  and  put  him  in  the  army,  where  he  achieved  the  highest 
distinction. 

Anne,  niece  of  Peter,  was  Empress  from  1736  to  1740,  and 
during  her  reign  was  wholly  dominated  by  her  favourite,  Jean 
Biren,  son  of  a  peasant. 

The  Empress  Elizabeth,  daughter  of  Peter,  was  so  humane 
as  to  be  named  the  '  Clement.'  She  refused  to  marry,  that  she 
might  indulge  her  fancies  without  impediment.  She  had  a  long 
list  of  favourites,  of  whom  the  Count  de  Bestucheff  maintained 
his  hold  the  longest. 

Catherine  II.,  a  German  princess,  was  forced  into  a  marriage 
with  Peter  III.  whilst  Duke  of  Courland.  Peter  no  sooner 
reached  the  throne  than,  enraged  at  Catherine's  liaison  with 
Stanislas  Poniatowski,  he  threatened  to  divorce  and  imprison  her. 
To  escape  such  a  fate  she  organised  a  conspiracy,  which  ended 
by  Peter  being  thrown  into  prison,  where,  in  a  short  time,  he  was 
murdered.  Catherine  was  now  sole  monarch,  and  she  made 
her  old  love,  Stanislas,  King  of  Poland.  Orlof,  an  aide-de-camp, 
who  had  been  very  active  in  the  conspiracy,  and  a  handsome 
man  to  boot,  became  the  leading  favourite.  His  head  was 
so  turned  by  the  honours  and  favour  bestowed  on  him  that  he 

*  China,  perhaps,  excepted. 

P 


210  St.  Petersburg. 


gave  frequent  offence  to  Catherine,  who,  after  enduring  it  for 
some  time,  proving  her  attachment,  she  ordered  him  to  go 
abroad,  providing  him  with  abundant  means.  Her  next  amour 
was  Potemkin,  noble  by  birth,  and  not  more  remarkable  for 
his  graces  of  person  than  his  brilliant  military  talents.  He  was 
active  in  effecting  the  partition  of  Poland,  and  frequently  com 
manded  the  army  against  Turkey.  He  was  anxious  to  march 
on  Constantinople,  but  Catherine  hesitated.  He  conquered  th«. 
Crimea,  and  induced  his  Sovereign  to  visit  it.  To  impress  her 
with  an  idea  of  its  value,  he  had  numerous  artificial  villages 
erected  at  various  points,  which  she  supposed  were  of  natural 
growth.  Potemkin's  favour  was  at  its  height,  when  the  discarded 
Orlof  returned  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  was  so  stung  by  the  gran 
deur  of  his  rival  that  he  went  mad  and  died.  Catherine  II., 
whose  reign  of  thirty-four  years  was  the  most  brilliant  after  that 
of  Peter  the  Great,  died  in  1 796  of  apoplexy,  having  survived  all 
her  minions.  Beside  rare  political  ability  she  was  fond  of  lite 
rature  ;  corresponded  with  Voltaire,  and  bestowed  a  fortune  on 
Diderot,  the  French  savant,  whom  she  invited  to  her  Court. 

The  sad  fate  of  Paul,  her  son,  I  have  mentioned.  Her  grand 
son,  Alexander  I.,  was  not  much  better  than  the  rest.  His  liaison 
with  the  Baroness  Krudner  is  well  known. 

This  is  a  sorry  record  for  the  house  of  Romanoff,  as  far  as 
their  private  lives  are  concerned,  but  the  moral  influence  of 
Europe  had  less  weight  in  Russia  formerly  than  now.  At  all 
events,  as  I  have  remarked,  the  domestic  life  of  Nicholas,  brother 
of  the  last  Emperor,  was  stainless. 

I  often  passed  an  evening  with  our  Minister,  and  his  sprightly 
conversation  always  charmed  me.  He  frequently  related  anec 
dotes  of  the  distinguished  people  he  had  met  in  St.  Petersburg, 
and  on  one  occasion  spoke  of  the  Empress,  a  sister  of  the  King 
of  Prussia,  a  handsome  woman,  under  forty.  He  remarked  that 
she  always  treated  him  with  great  condescension,  and  was  occa 
sionally  quite  playful  in  her  remarks.  One  night,  chatting  with 
him  at  a  ball  at  Court,  she  complimented  him  on  his  luxuriant 
head  of  hair,  and  asked  if  that  was  an  American  characteristic. 

'  Ah,  your  Majesty  is  laughing  at  my  gray  hairs.' 

'  So  far  from  that,  Mr.  Wilkins,  I  could  wish  my  hair  was  as 
gray  as  yours.' 

*  Your  Majesty  must  surely  jest1 

4  No,  believe  me/ — and  her  tone  became  more  serious, — '  for 


St.  Petersburg.  211 


then  I  should  be  nearer  to  the  goal,  and  feel  less  dread  of  the 
risks  and  dangers  that  ever  surround  me/ 

*  Well,  then,  will  your  Majesty  suffer  me  to  hope  you  may 
live  till  you  are  quite  gray?  though  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  that 
beautiful  hair  blanched  by  the  frosts  of  years/ 

The  news  had  just  arrived  of  the  shocking  attempt  on  the 
lives  of  the  King  of  the  French  and  some  of  his  family,  and 
this  had,  doubtless,  excited  the  alarm  of  the  Empress  for  her 
husband,  whom  she  passionately  loved.  Besides,  she  remem 
bered  the  tragic  fate  of  his  father  Paul.  *  How  sweet  a  thing  it 
is  to  wear  a  crown  !'  says  King  Henry  ;  but  the  pillows  of  the 
exalted  of  earth  are  often  beset  with  thorns  that  disturb  not 
*iie  rest  of  the  lowly. 

Before  leaving,  I  drove  out  one  fine  day  to  visit  the  cele 
brated  palace  of  Tzarkoe  Selo,  some  sixteen  miles  from  town. 
It  was  in  truth  a  gorgeous  edifice,  worth  alone  coming  to  St. 
Petersburg  to  see.  One  of  the  immense  apartments  was  lined 
with  the  finest  amber ;  another  with  lapis  lazuli  ;  the  floor  of  a 
third  was  thickly  inlaid  with  pearl,  and  in  the  same  room  stood 
a  large  table  of  the  same  precious  material.  I  passed  through 
the  bedroom  where  the  last  Emperor  had  died,  and  his  clothes 
were  allowed  to  remain  in  the  exact  spot  where  he  had  deposited 
them.  This  was  by  order  of  his  successor,  Nicholas,  and  I 
thought  it  a  touching  mark  of  affection. 

The  theatre  of  the  palace  was  beautiful,  and  quite  as  large 
as  one  of  the  Philadelphia  houses.  Forrest  was  in  raptures  with 
it,  and  strode  up  and  down  the  stage  as  though  once  more  on 
his  deserted  throne.  Of  a  sudden,  catching  the  inspiration  of 
the  place,  he  threw  himself  into  an  attitude,  and  began  spouting 
from  Othello.  I  listened  with  delight  to  his  splendid  declama 
tion,  when,  turning  round,  I  observed  the  face  of  the  palace 
official  attending  us  filled  with  amazement,  and  I  feared  every 
moment  he  would  run  off,  and  summon  the  guard  to  arrest 
Forrest  for  a  lunatic.  He  little  dreamt  he  was  contemplating 
the  great  tragedian  of  his  day. 

The  gardens  of  the  palace,  with  their  avenues  of  lofty  trees, 
their  close-shaven  lawns,  pretty  lakes,  and  endless  conservatories 
filled  with  choicest  fruit,  reminded  me  of  the  fairyland  of  Italy. 
The  soft  balmy  atmosphere  imparted  an  additional  charm,  and 
I  could  hardly  believe  the  enchanting  scene  before  me  would 
soon  be  buried  under  deep  layers  of  snow  for  whole  months  to- 


212  6V.  Petersburg. 


gether.  The  St.  Petersburg  summer,  like  woman's  love,  is  brief, 
but  delightful. 

We  afterwards  drove  to  see  a  palace  built  by  the  Emperor 
Paul,  which,  though  smaller,  was  equally  sumptuous.  As  we 
approached  it,  on  the  brow  of  a  hill,  our  horses  broke  away,  and 
dashed  down  at  a  furious  gallop.  We  observed  with  anxiety, 
crossing  the  road,  a  party  of  ladies  and  gentlemen,  with  two 
children,  who  were  obliged  to  run  for  their  lives.  As  we  flew 
by,  a  number  of  servants  bellowed  and  gesticulated  fiercely  at 
our  Russian  coachman,  who  looked  terror-stricken.  It  trans 
pired  that  the  children  were  the  youngest  sons  of  the  Emperor, 
out  for  an  airing  with  their  attendants  ;  and  we  rejoiced  for  their 
sakes,  as  well  as  our  own,  that  a  dreadful  accident  had  been 
escaped. 

For  several  days  we  had  been  getting  ready  to  leave  St. 
Petersburg.  The  formalities  were  innumerable,  and  it  was  plain 
that  travellers  were  not  wanted  in  Russia.  Our  passports  cost 
a  world  of  trouble,  and  we  were  catechised  over  and  over  again 
as  to  our  motives  in  visiting  Russia. 

I  should  not  forget  that  some  one  remarked  to  us,  that 
foreigners  with  military  titles  were  spared  a  deal  of  vexation,  as 
the  army  was  held  in  great  veneration. 

This  hint  was  not  lost  on  my  companion  Forrest,  who  trans 
formed  himself  forthwith  into  a  colonel  of  the  U.S.  '  Screamers.' 
In  harmony  with  his  new  rank  he  donned  a  frock-coat  for 
undress  uniform,  richly  frogged,  and  mounted  a  military  cap  with 
gold  braid.  I  feared  this  might  involve  him  in  some  awk 
ward  positions  ;  but  he  was  so  used  professionally  to  changes 
of  character  and  costume  that  he  thought  nothing  of  it.  This 
temporary  assumption  of  army  rank,  however,  was  of  great  ser 
vice  more  than  once. 

I  took  an  affectionate  leave  of  Mr.  Wilkins,  who  renewed  his 
invitation  to  pass  the  winter  at  St.  Petersburg,  adding  that  he 
meant  in  the  spring  to  resign  his  mission,  and  make  a  tour  of 
the  German  Courts  on  his  way  home,  where  he  would  present 
me  as  his  attach^.  The  temptation  was  extreme,  but  I  was 
obliged  again  to  decline. 

*  At  all  events/  said  the  Minister,  '  we  shall  meet  in  Paris 
in  April  next,  where  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  render  you  any 
service  in  my  power/ 

It  so  turned  out  that  he  was  able  to  lay  me  under  great  obli- 


St.  Petersburg.  2  1 3 


gation,  as  I  shall  relate.  He  tendered  me  as  I  left  him  several 
letters  of  introduction  to  our  Ministers  and  Consuls  on  my  in 
tended  route.  I  left  St.  Petersburg  without  the  least  regret. 
There  was  not  one  of  its  450,000  inhabitants  I  ever  cared  to  see 
again.  For  a  city  built  in  a  century  it  is  a  phenomenon,  but 
with  all  its  grandeur  it  fails  to  interest.  It  is  too  lofty,  too  wide, 
too  straight,  and  much  too  white.  Of  the  four  newspapers  pub 
lished,  I  could  only  read  one,  partly  printed  in  French,  and  the 
censorship  excluded  everything  interesting.  Even  the  solace  of 
a  cigar  in  the  streets  was  forbidden,  because  the  Emperor  did  not 
smoke.  The  Government  is  far  too  absolute  to  suit  an  American 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

MOSCOW. 

THE  KREMLIN — A  FETE — THE  FOUNDLING  HOSPITAL — A  GRUMBLER— 
THE  MONASTERY  SIMONOFSKOI,  ETC. 

WE  had  now  five  hundred  miles  before  us  to  reach  Moscow,  and, 
as  it  was  necessary  to  pass  three  nights  and  four  days  on  the 
road,  we  secured  a  compartment  to  ourselves,  that  we  might  en 
joy  all  the  more  space  and  comfort.  I  had  some  misgivings  as 
to  what  kind  of  a  thing  a  Russian  diligence  might  be,  but  my 
delight  was  measureless  when  I  found  it  the  ne  plus  ultra  of 
luxury — spring  cushions,  wadded  backs,  capacious  pockets,  and 
even  mirrors  to  reflect  our  contented  physiognomies.  I  only 
wished  it  could  carry  us  to  the  borders  of  the  Black  Sea.  I  had 
just  taken  my  place  when  an  equipage  drove  up  with  some  officer 
of  distinction,  to  judge  from  his  numerous  decorations.  I  took 
but  a  passing  glance  of  him,  as  my  attention  was  at  once 
absorbed  by  an  object  I  had  not  seen  before  in  St.  Petersburg — 
a  very  lovely  woman,  and  young  as  well.  It  was  clearly  his 
wife,  from  the  hugs  and  kisses  exchanged  at  parting.  The 
traveller  took  his  seat,  and  the  diligence  dashed  off,  but  the  for 
saken  lady  kept  up  with  us  in  her  carriage  for  some  distance. 
Her  face  was  frequently  buried  in  her  handkerchief,  but  when  she 
looked  up,  smiling  through  her  tears,  I  thought  it  more  beautiful 
than  any  rainbow.  Evidently  it  was  too  much  for  the  grim 
soldier,  for  he  waved  her  back  with  some  remonstrances  in 
Russian,  that  sounded  harsher  than  his  tone  ;  and  at  length, 
with  a  lingering  heart-broken  gaze,  she  turned  and  disappeared. 
This  little  episode  caused  both  Forrest  and  myself  to  feel 
very  queer.  We  jointly  wished  that  Heaven  had  made  us  such  a 
woman,  and  then  rejoiced  it  had  not,  else  we  should  be  enduring 
the  pangs  doubtless  afflicting  the  unhappy  husband  in  the  next 
compartment.  It  was  natural  that  a  prolonged  discussion  on 
marriage  should  ensue,  and  all  the  pros  and  cons  were  fully  and 
gravely  considered.  I  could  detect  without  difficulty  that  my 


Moscow.  2 1 5 


companion  was  a  marrying  man.  He  talked  of  the  pleasures  of 
the  fireside,  the  charm  of  a  congenial  and  intelligent  wife,  the 
delight  of  children,  and  wound  up  by  wishing  with  a  sigh  that 
Miss  Sinclair  was  an  American.  Whilst  admitting  the  fascina 
tion  of  the  picture  he  had  sketched,  I  demurred  that  marriage 
involved  great  risks,  and  seriously  hampered  a  man's  indepen 
dence. 

1  The  strongest  wills/  I  observed, '  were  often  overpowered  by 
women,  giving  a  different  shape  to  a  career.' 

'  Generally  for  their  good,'  said  Forrest. 

'  Not  unfrequently  the  contrary,'  I  insisted.  '  Besides,  your 
daily  peace  depends  vastly  on  a  wife — on  her  conduct,  her  whims, 
not  to  say  her  follies.' 

'  You  talk  like  a  confirmed  sceptic,'  retorted  Forrest,  '  and  are 
wilfully  shutting  your  eyes  to  the  joys  of  paradise.' 

'  The  more  I  reflect,'  I  continued,  '  the  more  I  tremble.  I 
have  met  not  a  few  angelic  creatures — Miss  Gamble  one  of 
the  latest — but  I  never  approach,  even  mentally,  the  brink  of 
matrimony  but  I  take  fright  and  bolt.  The  fact  is,  I  fancy 
women  have  too  great  an  ascendency  over  me,  and  I  shrink 
instinctively  from  legalising  their  influence.' 

(  None  but  the  brave  deserve  the  fair,'  declared  Forrest  dis 
dainfully.  (  You  are  too  cowardly  or  too  sentimental,  and  either 
unfits  you  to  make  a  contented  husband.' 

'  In  return,  let  me  say  that  I  think  it  requires  a  pliant  and 
conciliatory  spirit  to  get  on  comfortably  with  a  wife,  and  I  doubt 
if  you  are  over-blest  in  that  respect.' 

'  I  expect  a  wife  to  be  obedient,  to  defer  to  my  wishes,  to 
consult  my  tastes,  and  this  would  be  easy  if  she  loves — "  The 
labour  we  delight  in  physics  pain" — and  I'll  take  care  to  marry 
one  whose  devotion  I  can  count  upon.' 

'  The  more  you  exact,  I  warn  you,  the  less  you  are  likely  to 
get.  A  woman  will  do  a  great  deal  from  affection,  but  she  natur 
ally  expects  something  in  return.  The  selfishness  of  husbands 
often  makes  married  life  unsatisfactory.' 

'  If  you  mix  up  so  much  fancy  with  the  dose,'  remarked 
Forrest,  '  you  will  never  swallow  it.' 

'  Better  that  than  have  it  disagree  with  me/ 

'  Pshaw/  he  protested  ;  '  if  everybody  calculated  contingencies 
so  nicely,  nobody  would  do  anything.  Nothing  venture,  nothing 
have.' 


2 1 6  Moscow. 


*  Yes,  and  sometimes  they  have  more  than  was  expected. 
But  as  you  seem  screwed  up  to  take  the  leap  sooner  or  later, 
I  hope  you  may  alight  on  a  bed  of  roses.' 

Here  the  argument,  which  was  carried  on  till  after  dark, 
dropped  ;  and,  not  long  after,  I  inferred  from  certain  guttural 
sounds  that  my  friend  was  already  in  the  land  of  dreams.  This 
was  confirmed  a  few  minutes  later  by  his  murmuring,  '  Kate — 
American.'  It  was  pretty  plain  that  the  great  tragedian  had 
scorched  his  wings,  and  that  the  beauty,  intelligence,  and  sweet 
ness  of  Miss  Sinclair  had  seriously  compromised  his  peace  of 
mind. 

'  Not  poppy,  nor  mandragora, 
Nor  all  the  drowsy  syrups  of  the  world, 
Shall  ever  medicine  thee  to  that  sweet  sleep 
Which  thou  ow'dst  yesterday.' 

I  knew  my  friend  to  be  of  an  arbitrary  temperament,  and 
dreaded,  unless  his  choice  fell  on  a  woman  ever  ready  to  bend  to 
his  determined  will,  that  his  married  life  might  turn  out '  a  lame 
and  impotent  conclusion/  So  thinking  and  so  fearing,  I  slowly 
reclined  into  the  arms  of  Morpheus. 

I  was  enchanted  with  the  excellence  of  the  road.  It  was 
macadamised  d  VAnglaise>  and  smooth  as  a  bowling-alley.  The 
country  was  uninteresting  ;  a  deal  of  forest-land,  but  no  cul 
ture.  We  rattled  on  at  great  speed,  stopping  only  twice  a  day 
for  meals,  limited  to  half  an  hour.  The  stations  were  admirably 
constructed,  the  food  satisfactory.  We  passed  some  old  towns 
that  had  a  comely  look.  One  of  them,  Torjensk,  was  famous  for 
its  Russian  leather.  Most  of  them  had  a  shabby  aspect,  and 
left  an  unfavourable  impression  of  their  inhabitants.  Sometimes 
I  got  out  at  night  for  a  stretch  whilst  changing  horses,  and  I 
always  stumbled  over  a  number  of  boors,  lying  on  the  ground 
wrapped  in  their  sheepskins,  and  enjoying  themselves  hugely,  to 
judge  from  their  loud  snoring. 

On  the  fourth  day  we  drove  under  a  lofty  marble  arch  into 
Moscow,  the  cradle  of  the  Russian  monarchy.  The  glimpse  I 
caught  of  the  streets,  houses,  and  people  as  we  galloped  by  was 
favourable,  and  I  spied  more  well-dressed  and  pretty  women  in 
five  minutes  than  in  my  whole  stay  in  its  northern  rival.  We 
got  good  rooms  at  a  soi-disant  French  hotel,  but  it  had  an  un 
tidy  look  I  did  not  relish.  My  Philadelphia  notions  of  cleanli 
ness  often  impaired  my  enjoyment  in  Europe.  We  sent  out  for 


Moscow.  2 1 7 


a  guide,  and  to  our  consternation  none  could  be  had.  We  spoke 
no  Russian,  and  not  one  in  ten  thousand  knew  a  word  of  French  ; 
but  we  concluded  it  was  better  to  go  astray  in  the  streets  than  be 
shut  up  in  the  house.  So  after  dinner  we  desired  our  land 
lord  to  send  us  off  in  a  drosky  to  the  principal  theatre,  with 
orders  to  bring  us  back. 

I  was  astonished  at  the  size  of  the  house — six  rows  of  boxes, 
countless  stalls,  and  a  pit  of  immense  dimensions.  There  was 
a  large  audience,  but  the  nobility  were  still  in  the  country,  and 
the  display  in  dress  was  less  striking.  Robert  le  Diable  was 
given,  but  the  performance  suffered  in  comparison  with  that  of 
Paris.  The  costumes,  however,  were  rich,  and  the  scenery  beau 
tiful.  Between  the  acts  we  followed  the  crowd  into  a  large 
saloon  filled  with  men,  who  were  jabbering  with  animation, 
and  smoking  vehemently  long  Dutch  pipes  supplied  on  the  spot. 
Observing  they  all  quaffed  numerous  tumblers  of  some  yellow 
liquid  which  I  supposed  was  punch,  we  followed  the  example, 
and  found  the  beverage  was  tea  without  sugar  or  milk.  I 
thought  this  creditable  to  the  temperate  habits  of  the  Muscovites. 
In  a  short  time  the  atmosphere  became  so  dense  with  smoke 
that,  to  escape  suffocation,  we  beat  a  retreat.  At  the  close  of 
the  performance  we  searched  in  vain  for  our  drosky,  and  were 
obliged  to  set  out  for  the  hotel,  with  the  dread  of  passing  the 
night  in  the  street.  Luckily  the  distance  was  not  great,  and, 
having  a  good  bump  of  locality,  we  managed,  after  wandering 
about  for  a  time,  to  hit  upon  our  domicile. 

Finding  next  day  we  could  still  get  no  guide,  we  determined 
to  devote  it  to  the  Kremlin.  This  is  the  great  feature  of  Mos 
cow,  and  is  regarded  with  peculiar  reverence.  The  towers  that 
flank  it  were  built  in  1487.  Numerous  structures  of  great  inter 
est  are  contained  within  its  vast  circumference.  The  ancient 
palace  of  the  Czars  ;  the  church  where  they  are  crowned  ;  the  Im 
perial  Treasury  ;  the  belfry  of  Ivan  Veliki,  with  thirty-two  bells, 
one  of  them  the  largest  in  Europe, — there  was  enough  here  to 
occupy  us  for  several  days,  so  I  felt  less  concern  for  our  guideless 
condition.  After  an  inspection  of  the  palace  where  the  great 
Peter  was  born,  and  a  survey  of  the  old  cathedral,  we  gave 
ourselves  up  to  the  wonders  and  splendours  of  the  treasure-house 
of  the  Czars. 

The  first  thing  that  struck  me,  arranged  chronologically,  were 
no  less  than  seven  crowns  of  vanquished  kings,  whose  territories 


2 1 8  Moscow. 


had  been  successively  gobbled  up  by  greedy  Russia.  These 
glittering  trophies  indicated  the  steady  aggrandisement  of  this 
growing  empire,  which  seemed  destined  to  play  the  conquering 
rdle  of  ancient  Rome.  The  crowns  of  the  various  Czars  next  at 
tracted  my  attention.  The  diadem  of  Catherine,  wife  of  Peter 
the  Great,  is  said  to  contain  no  less  than  2536  diamonds,  a  single 
one  of  which  she  would  have  regarded  as  fabulous  wealth  when 
she  began  her  career  as  the  mate  of  a  private  soldier  in  the 
Swedish  army. 

The  thrones,  some  in  massive  silver,  of  the  various  Emperors 
are  preserved  here,  together  with  sceptres,  globes,  and  crosses 
in  gold.  In  glass  cases  are  arranged  goblets,  vases,  watches, 
bracelets,  necklaces,  all  in  gold  and  studded  with  precious  stones. 
Splendid  pickings  for  an  invading  army ! 

In  other  rooms  were  displayed  a  gorgeous  array  of  pre 
sents  from  the  Sultans  of  Turkey  to  their  dreaded  neighbour, 
consisting  chiefly  of  saddles,  bridles,  and  housings,  profusely 
decked  with  jewels  of  great  value.  I  had  never  even  dreamed 
of  such  a  dazzling  accumulation  of  treasure.  I  doubted  if  all 
the  jewellers  of  Europe  with  their  united  collections  could  have 
equalled  it  in  extent,  variety,  or  value. 

It  was  a  relief  to  my  dazed  vision  to  get  away  from  the 
glitter  of  this  granary  of  gems,  this  Russian  Golconda,  and  look 
for  some  new  object  of  interest.  I  found  it  at  my  feet.  From 
the  lovely  gardens  of  the  Kremlin  a  commanding  view  of  the 
city  is  obtained.  It  was  wholly  unlike  any  I  had  seen.  There 
was  something,  as  I  thought,  singularly  Asiatic  in  its  character. 
The  immense  number  of  domes,  towers,  and  spires  that  rose  on 
every  side  gave  it  quite  an  Oriental  aspect ;  and,  painted  as  nearly 
all  were -in  bright  blue  or  green,  and  thickly  besprinkled  with 
golden  stars,  the  sight  in  the  clear  sunlight  was  hardly  less 
bewildering  than  that  I  had  just  left.  Moscow  was  said  to  cover 
a  greater  surface  than  any  city  of  Europe,  owing  to  the  great 
extent  of  its  ornamental  grounds,  public  and  private.  A  pretty 
river,  the  Moskwa,  winds  through  the  town,  and  greatly  en 
hances  its  picturesque  beauty.  Leaning  on  the  parapet,  I  con 
templated  with  rapt  delight  the  enchanting  panorama,  and 
recalled  the  chequered  history  of  this  ancient  capital,  whose 
foundation  dates  from  1147. 

It  gradually  rose  in  importance,  and  from  1300  to  1703  it 
enjoyed  without  a  rival  the  position  of  the  capital  of  the  em- 


Moscow.  2 1 9 


pire.  From  the  latter  period  St.  Petersburg  became  the  seat  of 
Government ;  but  the  affections  of  all  true  Russians  still  cling  to 
the  '  Holy  City.'  Such  is  its  prestige  that  every  new  Emperor 
comes  here  to  assume  his  crown.  It  has  undergone  much  rough 
treatment  in  the  course  of  its  long  history.  It  has  been  re 
peatedly  besieged,  pillaged,  and  burnt  by  Lithuanians,  Tartars, 
and  Poles,  to  say  nothing  of  what  it  has  suffered  by  rival  dis 
putants  to  the  throne. 

Its  latest  visitation  was  still  fresh  in  the  minds  of  many  of 
its  inhabitants.  In  1812  it  was  captured  by  Napoleon;  but  he 
had  scarcely  jumped  from  his  horse,  and  seated  himself  in  his 
conqueror's  chair  in  the  palace  of  the  Czar,  than  tall  columns  of 
flame  shot  up  in  every  quarter  of  the  doomed  city.  No  efforts 
could  arrest  the  devouring  conflagration,  and  soon  he  found  him 
self  only  the  master  of  smoking  ruins.  What  a  chill  must  have 
struck  his  heart  as  he  foresaw  the  terrors  of  his  inevitable  retreat ! 
The  greater  part  of  his  vast  army  perished  of  cold  and  starvation 
in  its  flight  homewards.  This  was,  as  Talleyrand  declared, ( the 
beginning  of  the  end'  of  Napoleon's  career.  Whose  act  it  was 
that  made  a  holocaust  of  Moscow  has  never  been  discovered.  By 
many  it  was  attributed  to  Rostopchin,  the  governor ;  but  three 
years  before  his  death,  in  1826,  he  denied  it.  Some  suppose  it 
was  a  deep-laid  scheme  of  the  Holy  Alliance,  and  that  Napoleon 
was  artfully  drawn  on  to  Moscow  only  to  receive  a  mortal  blow. 
Happily  the  Kremlin,  with  all  its  precious  monuments,  escaped 
destruction.  In  1814  Moscow  began  to  rear  its  head  once  more, 
and  who  could  help  invoking  the  god  of  battles  that  it  might 
henceforth  be  spared  the  miseries  it  had  so  often  undergone  ? 

On  the  fourth  day  we  secured  a  guide,  a  short,  thin,  yellow- 
skinned  Egyptian,  by  name  of  Joseph,  who  spoke  a  dozen  lan 
guages,  and  knew  every  foot  of  the  town.  He  was  intelligent  and 
civil,  and  turned  out  quite  a  treasure. 

On  sallying  forth  next  morning,  I  found  the  shops  all  shut, 
and  crowds  of  people  in  the  streets,  decked  in  their  best  attire. 
Joseph  announced  it  was  a/^-day ;  and  as  all  public  buildings 
were  closed,  we  had  nothing  to  do  but  loiter  about  and  contem 
plate  Moscow  in  its  holiday  garb.  It  is  always  pleasant  to  see 
a  great  city  turn  out  for  a  frolic,  and  it  affords  a  traveller  especi 
ally  an  opportunity  to  observe  the  manners  and  tastes  of  the 
population.  The  first  thing  that  struck  me  was  the  motley 
variety  of  costumes,  not  more  curious  than  picturesque.  It 


220  MOSCOW. 


seemed  as  though  all  the  nations  of  Asia  had  sent  delegations  to 
represent  them  upon  the  occasion — Persians,  Armenians,  Tartars, 
and  Turks,  with  turbans  of  every  colour  and  robes  of  every 
texture,  to  say  nothing  of  the  different  nationalities  that  con 
stitute  modern  Russia,  with  garments  as  fantastic  as  any  of 
them.  All  meandered  to  and  fro,  filling  the  squares,  lingering 
around  the  fountains,  and  finally  collecting  towards  night  in  the 
splendid  public  gardens,  brilliantly  illuminated.  What  a  con 
trast  to  the  mercurial  French  on  such  a  day,  who  would  be 
talking,  gesticulating,  and  romping  like  kittens,  whereas  the 
Muscovites  comported  themselves  with  the  sober  dignity  of  an 
Oriental  people  !  They  talked  little  and  smiled  less  ;  and  if  they 
felt  any  lively  emotions,  they  were  not  visible  in  their  grave 
countenances  or  placid  eyes. 

The  perfect  order  maintained  was  striking.  To  be  sure,  the 
police  were  as  thick  as  flies,  and  sentinels  abounded.  'The 
myrmidons  of  the  law'  are  wonderfully  useful  in  all  countries  in 
keeping  crowds  on  their  good  behaviour.  I  inferred,  in  spite  of 
their  costumes  and  Asiatic  tint,  that  most  of  the  population  were 
Christian,  and  very  devout  at  that ;  for  they  did  little  else  but 
cross  themselves  almost  every  minute  as  they  passed  the  images 
of  saints,  that,  in  this  superstitious  country,  were  found  in 
every  conceivable  place.  Go  where  you  might,  into  shops,  cafe's, 
theatres,  as  well  as  at  the  corners  of  the  streets,  you  came  in 
contact  with  some  member  of  the  holy  fraternity,  enclosed  in  a 
frame  and  daubed  over  with  gilt.  Not  to  cross  yourself,  or  at 
least  to  raise  your  hat,  would  be  considered  sacrilegious. 

I  remember  one  day  getting  into  a  scrape  by  neglecting  the 
customs  of  the  place.  One  of  the  entrances  to  the  Kremlin  was 
through  a  long  tunnel,  where  the  air  was  exceedingly  damp ;  but 
as  this  was  christened  the  Oi  Spaskoi,  or  Holy  Gate,  everybody, 
from  the  Emperor  down,  was  expected  to  take  his  hat  off.  As 
I  was  suffering  from  a  cold  I  determined  to  stick  to  my  beaver; 
but  every  one  I  passed  stood  still,  horror-stricken  at  the  act.  Di 
rectly  the  sentinel  caught  sight  of  me,  electrified  at  the  outrage, 
he  uttered  a  wild  shout,  and,  levelling  his  spear,  made  after  me- 
Knowing  nothing  of  the  language,  it  would  have  been  difficult 
to  explain  the  case  ;  so  I  took  to  my  heels,  and,  fortunately,, 
outran  the  man  with  the  javelin. 

On  the  night  of  the/#<?  just  spoken  of,  the  town  was  illumi 
nated.  The  windows  were  filled  with  candles  ;  and  along-  the 


MOSCOW.  221 

pavement  were  placed  wooden  cups  with  burning  tapers.  The 
most  enticing  displays,  however,  were  the  gardens  that  skirted 
the  town,  where  coloured  lamps,  festooned  from  tree  to  tree, 
doubled  the  effect  of  the  multifarious  costumes,  and  gave  it  the 
appearance  of  a  masquerade.  The  ancient  walls  and  Tartar 
towers  of  the  Kremlin  were  ingeniously  lit  up,  and  adorned 
with  eagles  and  crowns  in  all  the  colours  of  the  rainbow. 

The  next  day  we  set  to  work,  under  the  auspices  of  Joseph, 
and  made  the  round  of  all  the  attractions  of  Moscow.  It  was 
impossible  not  to  be  frequently  impressed  by  the  grand  scale  of 
the  public  edifices,  and  the  almost  military  organisation  that 
pervaded  everything  in  Russia.  In  nothing  that  I  saw  was  the 
civilisation  of  the  century  disparaged.  The  fact  is,  ever  since 
Peter  the  Great  knocked  down  the  wall  of  isolation  which  had 
previously  environed  his  semi-barbarous  country,  Russia  has  been 
advancing  with  giant  strides.  There  must  be  a  vigilant  mind  some 
where  directing  the  destinies  of  this  aspiring  empire.  Behind 
the  throne  there  must  be  some  unseen  power,  which  not  only 
disposes  of  czars  who  misunderstand  their  mission,  but  is  ever 
urging  the  nation  onwards.  I  have  referred  to  Napoleon's  pre 
diction,  that  '  in  fifty  years  Europe  would  be  Republican  or 
Cossack.'  It  will  take  longer  than  that ;  but  the  struggle  be 
tween  the  two  principles,  Democracy  and  Aristocracy,  '  ne'er 
knows  retiring  ebb.'  Will  the  twentieth  century  bend  the  knee 
to  the  many-headed  monster,  or  will  it  sit  down  resigned  under 
a  system  that  reposes  on  unity  for  its  corner-stone  ? 

For  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  visited  a  Foundling  Hospital 
at  Moscow.  They  exist  in  most  countries,  and  are  usually  diffi 
cult  of  access,  as  was  the  case  here  ;  but  we  managed  to  effect 
an  entree.  This  Russian  institution  surpassed  in  extent  and  ex 
penditure  any  other  in  Europe,  and  it  will  be  seen  how  admir 
ably  it  was  utilised  by  this  sagacious  Government.  An  im 
pressionable  mind  could  not  but  be  deeply  stirred  by  the  singular 
fate  of  those  unfortunate  waifs,  who  grew  up  unconscious  of  the 
tenderest  ties  of  our  nature,  and  were  for  ever  tormented  with 
the  mystery  of  their  origin.  How  terrible  must  be  the  sacrifice 
of  the  mother  who  abandons  her  child  to  unknown  hands,  living 
in  perpetual  ignorance  of  its  destiny  !  Hardly  less  dreadful  than 
consigning  it  to  the  tomb.  With  these  impressions  I  entered 
the  vast  building,  and  began  with  the  male  department. 

The  first  room  was  occupied  by  clerks,  who  sat  like  mutes 


222  MOSCOW. 


behind  their  desks.  It  was  here  the  foundling  was  brought,  and 
his  entry  recorded.  The  only  question  asked  was,  '  Has  this 
child  a  name?'  If  not,  one  was  given.  The  next  court  was 
filled  with  cradles,  where  the  infant  was  handed  over  to  a  nurse, 
and  gently  stowed  away  till  five  in  the  afternoon,  when  he  was 
aroused  for  the  right  of  baptism.  In  a  succeeding  gallery  I  found 
the  little  ones  hard  at  play,  some  on  their  legs,  others  crawling 
on  all-fours.  We  then  passed  into  the  first  schoolroom,  where 
the  three-year-olds  were  formally  introduced  to  A  B  C  in  the 
Russian  and  other  modern  languages.  So  we  went  on,  apart 
ment  after  apartment,  until  the  inarticulate  babe  of  the  first  hall 
had  been  gradually  manufactured  into  a  highly  educated  and 
well-bred  young  gentleman  of  eighteen.  The  gradation  of  ages 
through  which  I  had  passed,  with  the  corresponding  changes  in 
size,  manner,  and  culture,  almost  gave  me  the  impression  that  I 
was  walking  through  some  factory,  where  a  human  being  was 
picked  up  a  helpless  passive  piece  of  flesh,  and  by  degrees,  under 
careful  manipulation,  metamorphosed,  body  and  mind,  into  a 
complete  and  intelligent  product  called  a  man.  This  would 
have  been  the  effect  upon  any  one  who  had  gone,  step  by  step, 
stage  after  stage,  through  this  novel  and  singular  process  of 
transformation. 

The  education  was  regulated  according  to  the  capacity,  and 
those  found  equal  to  it  were  initiated  into  the  highest  branches 
of  science.  At  the  age  of  eighteen  they  left  the  institution, 
and  most  of  them  were  destined  for  the  army.  Those  of  a  more 
pacific  turn  were  allowed  to  engage  in  commercial  pursuits. 
Others  were  enabled  to  go  off  in  a  body  to  colonise  various  por 
tions  of  this  immense  territory,  and  use  their  influence  to  extend 
civilisation  and  strengthen  the  Government  which  had  fostered 
them. 

Crossing  to  another  wing,  we  entered  the  female  department. 
Here  we  began  again  with  sundry  sweet  little  cherubs  busily 
engaged  imbibing  nourishment,  till,  in  due  course,  we  came 
upon  them  hopping  and  chirping  about  with  noisy  vivacity.  Our 
inspection  went  on,  till,  at  the  close,  we  encountered  young  ladies 
of  sixteen  and  seventeen,  whose  serious  and  comely  deportment 
was  really  most  captivating.  Not  only  were  they  instructed  in 
all  useful  studies,  but  taught  every  accomplishment  that  could 
facilitate  their  success  in  life,  as  embroidery,  music,  drawing, 
and  most  of  the  European  languages.  Admirable  samples  of 


Moscow.  223 


needlework  were  exhibited,  and  notably  some  handkerchiefs  em 
broidered  for  the  Empress.  Some  of  the  best  compositions  of 
the  German  and  Italian  schools  were  brilliantly  executed  on  the 
piano  and  harp,  of  which  there  was  an  abundant  supply.  These 
poor  girls,  who,  for  the  matter  of  that,  seemed  contented  and 
happy,  were  vigilantly  looked  after  on  leaving  their  only  home- 
Most  of  them  became  governesses  in  rich  and  noble  families, 
and  many  married  with  the  sanction  of  the  institution  ;  but  all 
remained  for  six  years  under  the  surveillance  of  the  governor.  If 
undeserved  misfortune  overtook  any  after  entering  the  world,  they 
were  received  back,  and  succoured  till  a  fresh  opening  presented 
itself.  The  dormitories  were  well  ventilated  and  in  excellent 
order.  In  the  hospital  there  was  only  one  patient  out  of  nine 
hundred  inmates.  Infants  were  received  daily  in  numbers  vary 
ing  from  one  to  forty. 

The  morality  of  such  an  institution  it  is  idle  to  discuss.  It 
is  certainly  a  check  on  infanticide,  and  many  children  who  might 
otherwise  have  grown  up  worthless  or  criminal  were  thus  con 
verted  into  useful  members  of  society.  But  in  Russia,  where 
educated  men  and  women  are  important  adjuncts  in  the  great 
scheme  of  empire,  the  Foundling  Hospital  was  considered  worth 
the  liberal  sums  bestowed  on  it  by  the  Government.  There  is 
no  telling  how  many  distinguished  generals  and  great  engineers 
began  their  career  in  this  benevolent  establishment. 

It  was  hardly  possible  to  wander  for  several  hours,  as  we  did, 
amid  such  a  concourse  of  young  women  without  encountering  some 
remarkable  specimens  of  loveliness.  One  sweet  girl  in  particular 
arrested  my  attention,  not  for  her  beauty  only,  but  her  modest 
refined  deportment,  and  a  touching  sensibility  revealed  in  her 
face  and  melting  eyes.  Her  ambiguous  birth  and  uncertain 
future  tended  to  deepen  my  interest.  The  thought  flashed  across 
me  that  it  would  be  patriotic  as  romantic  to  convert  her  into  an 
American  citizen  by  carrying  her  off  to  the  nearest  church.  But 
I  lacked  nerve  for  so  adventurous  an  exploit.  For  days  she 
haunted  my  memory,  and  there  was  scarcely  a  morning  I  might 
not  have  sung  with  Shelley, 

*  I  arise,  I  arise,  from  dreams  of  thee,  of  thee.' 

I  went  frequently  to  the  French  theatre,  where  I  found  an 
admirable  group  of  artists.  Whatever  the  Russians  imported 
always  consisted  of  the  best  material.  One  evening  I  fell  in 


224  Moscow. 


with  a  distinguished  Englishman  I  had  met  on  the  Baltic  steamer. 
He  had  just  returned  from  an  excursion  to  Novgorod  to  see 
the  celebrated  fair,  and  he  described  it  as  very  curious,  especially 
the  variety  of  races  that  came  there  from  all  parts  of  the  East, 
as  eager  for  a  bargain  as  the  more  enlightened  denizens  of  the 
Western  world. 

'  However,'  he  added,  in  a  dissatisfied  tone,  '  it  is  paying  dear 
for  your  whistle  to  travel  over  such  detestable  roads  as  you  find 
in  Russia,  not  to  speak  of  the  utter  absence  of  ordinary  comforts/ 

f  You  should  not  forget/  I  replied,  '  the  condition  of  England 
before  Macadam  appeared,  not  so  very  long  ago.  It  is  little 
over  a  century  since  George  II.  consumed  hours  driving  from 
Hampton  Court  to  St.  James's  Palace,  scarcely  sixteen  miles  ; 
and  then  Russia  was  hardly  better  than  an  Asiatic  province. 
Now  she  ranks  with  the  first  European  States/ 

'  Whatever  her  political  standing,'  said  the  scoffer,  '  it  is  a 
wretched  country  for  a  traveller.  There  is  not  a  decent  hotel 
in  St.  Petersburg,  and  you  admit  that  in  Moscow  you  were 
compelled  to  take  refuge  in  an  English  pension.  A  thousand 
annoyances  beset  you  at  every  turn.  You  cannot  leave  a  town 
without  advertising  it  for  days,  and  your  banker  must  go  security. 
At  every  moment  your  business  must  be  explained  to  prying 
officials.  The  Lord  deliver  me,  I  say,  from  another  trip  in 
Russia !' 

'  If  England  is  taken  as  a  standard,'  I  answered,  ( it  must  be 
admitted  there  is  much  to  complain  of;  but  are  the  other  coun 
tries  of  Europe  above  criticism  ?  In  all  of  them  your  passports 
are  constantly  demanded,  and  your  portmanteaus  turned  in 
side  out/ 

'  But  in  all  of  them,'  returned  the  railer,  '  you  have  some  com 
pensation.  What  do  you  get  in  Russia  ?  St.  Petersburg  is  the 
stupidest  place  I  ever  saw.  All  the  buildings  are  covered  with 
whitewash.  There  is  not  a  gallery  worth  looking  at.  The 
churches  are  things  of  yesterday,  and  contemptible  at  that.  The 
people  are  filthy  and  plunged  in  superstition,  and,  from  high  to 
low,  they  are  the  greatest  cheats  in  the  world.  They  cheat  the 
Government,  they  cheat  each  other,  and  doubtless  hope  to  cheat 
Heaven  by  crossing  and  prostrating  themselves  every  five  minutes 
before  the  daubs  you  meet  at  every  corner/ 

I  was  amused  at  this  hearty  explosion  of  English  spleen. 

'  Well/  I  continued,  '  I  am  not  inclined  to  take  up  the  cudgels 


MOSCOW.  22$ 


for  St.  Petersburg,  which  made  little  impression  on  me.  But 
you  cannot  deny  that  Moscow  has  many  charms.  What  a  view 
from  the  Kremlin  !  Nothing  more  picturesque  in  Europe.' 

'  Yes/  said  the  croaker,  ( if  the  picturesque  consisted  of  green 
paint  and  gilt  stars,  which  are  smeared  over  everything.  But 
where  is  there  a  picture  or  a  statue  worth  crossing  the  street  to 
see  ?  Not  a  single  monument  of  any  grace  or  antiquity.' 

'  Don't  ignore  the  Kremlin,  remarkable  for  both.' 

'  I  admit  it  is  old  enough.' 

*  And  what  a  collection  of  gems  is  'seen  there  !' 

*  I'll  lay  you  odds,'  said  the  scoffer  emphatically,  '  that  half  of 
them  are  false.     The  real  ones  have  been  stolen  long  ago.     The 
officials  in  this  country  could  not  live  on  their  miserable  stipends. 
They  must  plunder  or  starve.' 

'  It  is  clear,'  I  remarked,  *  that  you  can  find  no  good  in  Naza 
reth.' 

*  Not  much,  I  grant  you.     Why,  I  never  pick  up  the  London 
Times  but   I    find   half  of  it   blotted   out,    as  if  a  newspaper 
article  was  as  deadly  as  the  cholera.     What  a  Government,  what 
a  country !     I  don't  wish  them  harm,  but  I  trust  never  to  see 
them  again/ 

My  late  fellow- voyager  was  plainly  in  a  bad  humour,  and  I 
was  diverted  by  his  wholesale  abuse  of  unfortunate  Russia.  It 
was  clear  that  the  many  vexatious  formalities,  that  I  fancy  are 
meant  to  exclude  travellers,  had  told  upon  his  equanimity,  and  I 
feared,  before  bidding  adieu  to  the  land  of  the  Czars,  I  should 
fall  into  the  same  jaundiced  condition.  Travelling  in  England 
was  so  pleasant,  that  a  wandering  Briton  was  apt  to  look  at  every 
thing  through  his  nil  admirari  spectacles.  The  British  Lion  was 
notorious  for  his  growling  propensities,  but  I  trusted  that  my 
American  temperament  would  save  me  from  such  extravagant 
denunciation. 

I  was  strongly  urged  one  day  to  venture  on  a  Russian  bath, 
although  said  to  be  a  trying  ordeal  for  novices.  With  some  tre 
pidation  I  undertook  it.  In  the  first  room  I  was  popped  into  a 
hot-water  bath,  where  the  temperature  was  gradually  raised  till  I 
was  nearly  parboiled.  This  was  intended  to  prepare  the  victim 
for  the  second  chamber,  filled  with  hot  air  to  the  tune  of  100 
degrees  Fahrenheit.  The  third  chamber  was  still  hotter,  and 
would  have  been  intolerable  but  for  a  tremendous  perspiration 
coming  to  my  relief.  At  the  end  was  a  platform  with  three 

Q 


226  MOSCOW. 


steps,  each  one  emitting  a  hotter  current  of  air.  On  the  top  was 
a  wooden  bed,  the  pons  asinorum  of  the  process,  and  to  lie  down 
upon  this  was  considered  a  triumph.  I  tried  it ;  but  my  head 
seemed  to  swell,  and  respiration  became  difficult  I  felt  if  I  did 
not  melt  away  I  must  break  out  in  flames,  and  I  bolted.  Sham 
pooing  followed  in  another  room  ;  and  finally  I  was  consigned 
to  a  divan,  and  regaled  with  coffee  and  cigarettes.  Repose  in  a 
moderate  temperature,  after  such  dreadful  prostration,  was  really 
delightful,  and,  as  strength  returned,  a  wonderful  buoyancy  suc 
ceeded.  My  conclusion  was  that  a  man  must  be  in  a  very  foul 
state  to  require  such  sweltering  to  restore  him  to  a  state  of 
cleanliness.  Philadelphia  in  the  dog-days  almost  made  me  for 
swear  my  country  ;  but  this  Russian  experiment  quite  reconciled 
me  to  my  native  climate. 

Forrest  and  I  both  found  Moscow  very  agreeable ;  but  our 
journey  to  the  '  Propontic  and  the  Hellespont'  was  before  us, 
and  we  felt  it  necessary  to  prepare  for  our  departure.  As  there 
was  no  public  conveyance  at  that  day  to  Odessa,  1300  miles 
distant,  we  bought  a  carriage,  and,  intending  to  travel  day  and 
night,  we  ordered  a  mattress  to  fit  it,  that  could  be  doubled  up 
in  the  day.  An  order  on  the  post-houses,  maintained  for 
Government  use,  to  supply  us  with  horses,  was  then  procured, 
and  we  thought  four  sufficient.  We  waded  heroically  through  a 
sea  of  formalities  that  more  than  once  recalled  the  grumbling 
Englishman,  until  I  was  almost  inclined  to  adopt  his  wicked 
suspicion  against  the  jewels  of  the  Kremlin.  When  all  was 
over,  as  I  thought,  Joseph  informed  us  the  Governor's  signature 
to  our  papers  was  indispensable,  and  he  was  absent  for  two  or 
three  days. 

Though  only  the  middle  of  September,  there  was  a  '  nipping 
and  an  eager  air'  at  night,  the  thermometer  often  falling  to  near 
freezing-point,  though  the  day  was  genial  enough.  I  looked 
forward  with  relish  to  a  more  southern  latitude. 

Some  one  suggested  we  should  attend  vespers  at  the  Monas 
tery  Simonofskoi  ;  and  thither  we  went  one  evening  after  dark, 
under  convoy  of  Joseph,  who  conducted  us  into  a  dimly-lighted 
chapel.  At  the  customary  hour  a  priest  took  his  place  before 
the  altar,  a  twinkling  taper  in  his  hand,  and  began  reading 
from  a  book.  At  each  line  he  paused,  and  it  was  repeated  by  an 
invisible  chorus,  whose  voices  were  singularly  melodious.  The 
effect  was  most  impressive.  At  the  close  of  this  ceremony  a 


Moscow.  227 


long  line  of  priests,  emerging  from  the  darkness,  advanced  with 
slow  and  solemn  tread  towards  the  altar.  They  were  clad  in 
loose  garments  of  black,  with  high-pointed  hats  of  the  same 
funereal  hue,  from  which  hung  pendants  in  crape.  Each  bore  a 
burning  taper.  They  were  pale,  thin,  ghostly-looking  men.  The 
words  of  Hamlet  occurred  to  me  : 

'  Be  them  spirits  of  health  or  goblins  damn'd, 
Be  thy  intents  wicked  "or  charitable, 
Thou  com'st  in  such  questionable  shape — ' 

Arranging  themselves  about  the  altar,  they  began  to  chant 
anew.  I  never  listened  to  such  a  'concord  of  sweet  sounds/ 
Their  voices  swelled  at  times  to  so  loud  a  pitch  as  to  make  the 
vault  above  reverberate,  and  then  gradually  died  away  into  a 
gentle  cadence  almost  inaudible.  I  was  strangely  affected  by 
this  exquisitely  thrilling  harmony.  Doubtless  the  surrounding 
obscurity,  the  strange  ghoul-like  appearance  of  these  monks,  and 
the  sepulchral  novelty  of  the  scene,  that  revived  hideous  visions 
of  the  Inquisition,  combined  to  deepen  the  effect.  The  service 
over,  these  unhappy  men,  as  I  regarded  them,  slowly  and  sadly 
stalked  away  to  their  living  tombs.  Full  of  youth  and  vivacity, 
I  could  not  comprehend  such  a  dismal  existence.  These  poor 
creatures  seemed  to  me  only  to  live 

'  In  hope  to  merit  heaven  by  making  earth  a  hell.' 

To  dispel  the  impressions  of  this  sombre  weird-like  scene,  I 
hurried  away  to  the  opera,  where  the  graceful  figurantes  of  the 
ballet,  which  vied  with  that  of  Paris,  gradually  restored  me  to 
more  mundane  emotions. 

The  following  morning,  Joseph  came  to  announce  that  the 
Governor  had  returned,  and  all  was  signed.  We  ordered  the 
carriage  forthwith  ;  and  it  soon  appeared,  with  four  spanking 
grays,  that  looked  equal  to  ten  miles  the  hour.  As  we  were  told 
that  provisions  were  but  scanty  on  the  road,  we  laid  in  a  good 
supply  of  cold  joints  and  pickles  to  match,  trusting  to  Providence 
for  the  rest.  As  we  rattled  through  the  streets,  I  experienced  a 
regret  on  leaving  Moscow  I  had  not  felt  in  the  case  of  St.  Peters 
burg.  There  was  a  deal  of  charm  about  the  place,  and  no  little 
splendour.  Many  of  the  private  mansions  had  the  air  of  palaces; 
for.  Moscow  was  the  favourite  residence  of  the  Boyars,  whose 
wealth  was  often  enormous  ;  in  proof  of  which,  one  of  them  was 


228  Moscow. 


said  to  be  the  owner  of  180,000  serfs,  more  than  the  inhabitants 
of  Philadelphia  then. 

We  got  on  famously,  as  the  roads  were  in  excellent  condi 
tion  at  this  season  of  the  year,  and  we  calculated  that,  barring 
accident,  we  could  reach  Odessa  on  the  eighth  day,  stopping 
only  once  in  twenty-four  hours  for  a  hearty  meal,  and  falling  back 
on  our  larder  at  night  for  an  additional  snack,  if  needed. 

The  country  was  flat,  and  as  we  advanced  south  the  soil  im 
proved,  and  the  culture  was  general.  Grain  of  all  kinds  was 
grown  in  abundance,  and  buckwheat  was  an  especial  favourite. 
It  constituted  the  chief  food  of  the  peasantry,  who  boiled  and 
ate  it  as  our  New  Englanders  did  mush.  As  we  penetrated  into 
'  the  bowels  of  the  land/  we  observed,  to  our  annoyance,  that  un 
usual  delay  befell  us  at  every  post-house,  and  that,  instead  of  the 
four  horses  stipulated,  we  were  frequently  encumbered  with  six 
or  more.  We  called  on  our  factotum  Joseph,  whose  services  we 
had  secured  till  our  return  to  France,  for  an  explanation  ;  and 
he  alleged  that,  in  spite  of  all  his  remonstrances,  the  post 
masters  invariably  declared  either  their  horses  were  all  gone, 
or  that  they  were  bespoke  by  some  general  or  prince,  hourly 
expected. 

'  What  does  that  mean  ?'  we  demanded  indignantly. 

'  It  means,  my  masters/  said  Joseph,  in  a  fume,  '  that  the  post 
masters  are  unscrupulous  knaves,  and  they  employ  these  pre 
texts  to  force  me  to  take  double  the  number  I  ask  for.' 

This  revelation  led  to  a  discussion  between  Forrest  and  my 
self  as  to  the  best  plan  of  action  under  the  circumstances.  The 
drain  on  our  purses  for  extra  horses  was  considerable,  and  added 
nothing  to  our  speed.  Finally  we  determined,  rather  than  suffer 
loss  of  time  and  temper,  we  had  better  submit  to  extortion,  but 
cautioned  Joseph  to  spare  our  pockets,  if  possible.  Things  went 
on  as  usual,  till  one  night  Joseph  woke  me  up,  saying  he  was  in 
despair,  as  the  rogue  of  a  postmaster  asserted  he  had  no  horses 
at  all,  which  he  knew  was  false.  I  roused  Forrest,  and  stated 
the  case. 

'Tell  the  scamp/ growled  the  tragedian,  ' that  we  will  mur 
der  him  if  he  detains  us  another  moment' 

'  And  notify  him  also/  I  added,  '  that  we  have  despatched 
two  or  three  villains  like  him  already.' 

Presently  Joseph  returned,  and  said  the  fellow  only  laughed 
at  our  threats.  I  then  proposed  to  Forrest  we  should  make  a 


Moscow.  229 


demonstration  that  might  possibly  be  successful.  I  suggested 
he  should  draw  the  long  bowie-knife  he  carried  with  him,  and  I 
should  take  a  pistol  in  either  hand,  and  then  make  a  rush  on  our 
victim. 

'  Good/  returned  Forrest,  who  relished  the  stratagem  ;  c  and 
I  will  try  his  nerves  with  Metamora's  war-whoop.' 

*  Which  I  will  supplement/  I  continued,  '  with  demoniac  yells 
of  the  fiercest  description/ 

Jumping  out  of  the  carriage,  we  made  a  dash  at  the  long- 
bearded  ruffian,  who  turned  pale  with  terror,  and  fled  screaming 
across  a  courtyard.  We  put  chase,  and  I  fired  my  pistols  in  the 
air  as  we  ran.  The  varlet  doubled  his  speed,  and  disappeared 
from  view.  We  returned  chuckling  to  our  mattress,  and  awaited 
the  result.  In  a  little  while  Joseph  came  back  in  a  great  fright 
— for  he  thought  it  was  all  serious — and  said  he  had  found  the 
peccant  Russian  hidden  under  a  pile  of  straw,  who  implored  us  to 
spare  his  life,  and  we  might  take  all  his  horses  if  we  chose'. 

*  Let  us  have  four  horses  instantly/  we  both  responded,  '  or 
he  is  a  doomed  man.' 

In  ten  minutes  we  were  off,  congratulating  ourselves  heartily 
over  the  success  of  our  ruse.  Joseph  told  this  story  to  all  suc 
ceeding  postmasters,  and  the  effect  was  magical. 

Occasionally  we  passed  some  small  towns  of  rather  a  re 
pulsive  aspect,  but  everywhere  the  church  was  the  most  im 
posing  edifice,  and  we  found  the  priests  were  held  in  the 
greatest  reverence.  The  Greek  faith  had  clearly  a  strong  hold 
on  the  Russian  peasantry.  At  all  the  stations  scattered  along 
the  route,  for  the  benefit  of  Government  officials,  we  were  sup 
plied  with  excellent  bread  and  delicious  tea,  and  our  own  com 
missariat  furnished  the  more  substantial  fare  required.  We  lost 
the  greater  part  of  one  day  wading  slowly  through  a  vast 
stretch  of  sand  that  must  have  been  the  bed  of  some  dried-up 
sea.  For  a  time  I  could  imagine  we  were  travelling  through  the 
desert  of  Sahara,  but  as  the  novelty  wore  off  the  monotony 
increased,  and  the  dragging  pace  put  our  patience  to  a  severe 
test. 

We  breakfasted  one  morning  at  the  pretty  town  of  Pultawa, 
besieged  in  1709  by  the  famous  King  of  Sweden,  Charles  XI L, 
with  an  army  of  20,000  men.  Peter  the  Great  fell  upon  him  with 
triple  that  force,  and  with  great  slaughter  put  him  to  flight.  This 
was  his  first  defeat  after  numerous  victories  over  the  Czar  and 


230  Moscow. 


other  adversaries.  After  many  vicissitudes,  the  unfortunate 
Charles,  the  hero  of  his  epoch,  was  killed  in  battle,  1718,  only 
thirty-six  years  old.  Voltaire's  life  of  this  great  warrior  reads 
like  a  romance. 

I  was  awakened  in  the  middle  of  our  seventh  night  on  the  road 
by  a  tremendous  uproar,  and,  on  getting  out  of  the  carriage,  found 
Forrest  vociferating  furiously  in  very  strong  English,  with  Joseph 
at  his  side  shrieking  wildly  in  Russian.  On  inquiring,  I  found 
we  had  reached  a  river  it  was  necessary  to  cross  in  a  scow,  and 
the  ferrymen  refused  to  go  over  in  the  dark  without  some  exor 
bitant  compensation.  Inde  irce.  A  simple  solution  occurred  to 
me,  which  Forrest  readily  adopted.  Bidding  Joseph  give  up 
the  conflict  and  mount  his  box,  we  threw  ourselves  on  our  mat 
tress  and  had  a  glorious  snooze  till  daylight,  when  we  were 
taken  over  the  Dnieper  at  the  usual  rate.  Diplomacy  has  its 
victories  as  well  as  war.  As  we  advanced  we  remarked  immense 
plains  of  rich  pasturage,  and  the  country  assumed  every  moment 
a  more  cheerful  phase. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 
ODESSA  AND  THE  CRIMEA. 

AN  UNEXPECTED  VISIT — BAD  NEWS PRINCE  WORONZOW — A  FLIRTATION 

SEBASTOPOL — POLITICAL  CHAT. 

ON  our  eighth  day  we  drove  into  Odessa,  and  I  was  almost 
tempted  to  believe  that,  by  some  hocus-pocus,  we  had  tumbled 
on  an  Italian  town,  so  balmy  was  the  air,  so  bright  the  aspect 
of  the  place,  with  its  lofty  granite  houses,  broad  streets,  rich 
foliage,  and  splendid  promenade  on  the  borders  of  the  smiling  j 
Black  Sea,  rivalling  the  Mediterranean  in  loveliness.XWe  alighted "" 
at  a  splendid  hotel  worthy  of  any  capital  in  Europe,  and  our 
spacious  apartment  overlooked  the  classical  Euxine  of  old.  ( Afr 
ter  a  dinner  of  Parisian  excellence,  we  strolled  under  a  genial 
starry  sky  in  the  pretty  gardens  by  the  seaside,  whose  trickling 
fountains  and  graceful  statuary  reminded  me  every  instant  of 
Naples  and  its  adorable  climate^  I  could  not  realise  I  was  still  a 
denizen  of  the  Russian  Empire,  associated  in  my  mind  with  cold, 
snow,  and  huge  mantles  of  fur  even  in  the  decorous  month  of 
October. 

All  next  day  we  walked  and  drove  about  the  town,  and  our 
pleasing  impressions  were  confirmed  on  every  side.  ^What  was  ^ 
strange,  it  seemed  to  have  nothing  in  common  with  the  cities  we 
had  seen.     There  was  little  or  nothing  Russian  about  it.     Its     /^ 
inhabitants  were  chiefly  Italian  or  Greek,  with  a  sprinkling  of 
French,  German,  and  English.     Those  drowsy  inoffensive  crea 
tures,  the  Russian  boors,  that  we  had  met  at  every  turn  in  St. 
Petersburg  and  Moscow,  seemed  never  to  have  found  their  way  j 
hither. 

The  history  of  Odessa  is  curious,  and  its  birth  is  almost  as 
recent  as  an  American  town.  It  was  only  a  paltry  village  in 
1795,  when  Catherine  II.,  with  a  wave  of  her  imperial  sceptre, 
commanded  a  city  to  supersede  it.  A  grayish  granite  found  in  the 
neighbourhood  answered  the  purpose,  and  streets  were  laid  out, 
fine  houses  built,  stately  edifices  erected,  as  if  by  magic.  Inha- 


232  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

bitants  from  southern  climes,  from  Greece  and  Italy,  began  to 
flock  in,  and  its  population  accumulated  with  giant  strides.  Pro 
vidence  bestowed  on  it  a  still  greater  boon.  In  1805  the  Duke 
of  Richelieu  was  sent  here  as  governor  by  the  Emperor  Alex 
ander.  This  distinguished  man  was  a  direct  descendant  of  the 
great  Cardinal.  He  left  France  when  the  Revolution  broke  out  in 
1789,  and  entered  the  Russian  army,  where  he  rose  to  distinction 
in  a  war  against  the  Turks.  He  refused  to  fight  against  his 
country  when  Russia  took  up  arms  to  check  Napoleon.  The 
command  of  Odessa  was  then  offered  him,  and  he  gave  by  his 
energy  and  judgment  an  immense  impetus  to  its  growth.  The 
Emperor  was  so  pleased  with  his  successful  administration  that 
he  extended  the  Duke's  jurisdiction  over  the  whole  of  Southern 
Russia,  where  he  sowed  the  first  germs  of  modern  civilisation. 
Returning  to  France  in  1814,  he  became  a  Minister  of  Louis 
XVIII.  (A  monument  to  his  memory  stood  in  one  of  the  squares 
of  Odessa.  It  was  the  French  taste  of  the  Duke  of  Richelieu, 
coupled  with  the  refinement  of  the  emigres  from  Greece  and 
Italy,  that  gave  to  Odessa  that  foreign  air  and  tone  that  aston 
ished  me  so  much  at  first  sight.  Its  own  sweet  southern  atmo 
sphere  completed  the  transformation. 

Forrest  and  I  were  lolling  over  our  dessert  the  day  after  our 
arrival,  discussing  the  charms  of  the  place,  when  our  door  was 
thrown  open,  and  a  tall  stout  man,  clad  in  uniform,  entered  the 
room.  The  intrusion  was  somewhat  startling,  and  we  began  to 
fear  that  our  assault  on  the  postmaster  had  reached  Odessa,  and 
we  were  in  danger  of  arrest,  such  things  are  so  common  in 
Russia.  The  stranger  approached  us  with  a  confident  manner, 
and  a  look  of  suspicion,  as  we  thought,  and  asked  if  we  were  the 
two  Americans  who  had  just  arrived.  This  confirmed  our  appre 
hensions,  and  we  hesitated  a  moment.  Resolved,  however,  to 
die  game,  we  replied  in  chorus, '  Yes,  we  are/ 

'From  what  State  and  what  city?'  continued  the  man  in 
regimentals. 

This  catechism  indicated  it  was  all  over  with  us.  We  ex 
changed  glances  of  conscious  guilt,  and  drawled  out  again  in 
chorus, 

'From  Philadelphia,  Pennsylvania.' 

'  Good  Heaven  !'  exclaimed  the  unknown  individual,  his  face 
flushing  and  his  eyes  moistening,  '  is  it  possible  ?  Give  me  your 
hands,  fellow-townsmen.  It  is  my  native  city  and  State.  My 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  233 

name  is  General  Sontag,  in  the  Russian  service.  Allow  me  to 
sit  down  and  talk  of  my  dear  old  birthplace,  that  I  left  more 
than  thirty  years  ago.  You  are  the  first  Philadelphians  I  have 
met  since  then.' 

The  revulsion  in  our  feelings  may  be  supposed.  We  rose, 
and  begged  the  General  to  be  seated.  A  delightful  conversation 
ensued.  He  asked  us  a  thousand  questions  about  the  Quaker 
city,  not  forgetting  the  venerable  State  House  and  Independence 
Bell.  We  told  him  of  our  adventure  with  the  recalcitrant  keeper 
of  the  post-house,  and  of  our  sudden  dread,  when  he  appeared  in 
his  military  costume,  that  we  were  to  be  consigned  to  limbo 
forthwith.  He  was  much  amused,  and  said  when  the  police 
informed  him  of  the  advent'  of  two  Americans,  quite  a  pheno 
menon  in  Odessa,  he  set  out  at  once  to  welcome  us. 

He  added  that  he  had  at  first  entered  the  Russian  navy,  but 
then  left  it  for  the  army,  where  he  had  made  his  way  successfully. 
He  was  now  on  the  staff  of  the  Governor-General  of  Southern 
Russia,  the  Prince  Woronzow,  and  was  regarded  as  his  right- 
hand  man.  '  The  Prince,'  he  said,  '  was  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
empire,  and  a  special  favourite  of  the  Emperor.  You  must  know 
his  Excellency  at  once.' 

'  I  have  brought  a  letter  to  him,'  I  replied. 

'  That's  well,'  observed  the  General  ;  '  but  I  will  write  that 
you  are  friends  of  mine,  and  I  am  sure  he  will  greet  you  cordially. 
He  is  at  his  palace  in  the  Crimea,  one  of  the  loveliest  regions 
hereabouts,  and  as  a  steamer  leaves  on  Friday  with  his  des 
patches,  I  will  retain  state-rooms,  and  you  need  have  no  fear  of 
a  kind  welcome.  It  is  only  a  day's  trip.' 

I  assented  readily  to  this  pleasant  proposal. 

'  Your  names  have  been  given  to  me/  continued  the  General, 
1  but  I  don't  know  to  whom  they  belong.' 

'  That  is  Mr.  Forrest,'  I  said,  indicating  my  friend. 

*  Any  relation,'  he  asked,  '  to  the  great  actor  ?' 

*  The  man  himself,'  I  explained. 

"  '  Can  it  be  possible  ?'  ejaculated  the  General,  contemplating 
him  with  lively  interest  '  I  have  heard  of  you  so  often,  but 
little  dreamt  of  meeting  you  in  Russia.' 

As  he  rose,  after  a  prolonged  stay,  General  Sontag  said  he 
would  return  the  next  afternoon,  to  drive  us  out  to  dine  at  his 
villa,  and  to  present  us  to  his  wife  and  daughter. 

This  rencontre  was   as  gratifying  as   unexpected.     To  fall 


2 34  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

upon  an  American  and  a  brother-townsman  on  the  very  confines 
of  the  Russian  Empire,  and  one  so  high  in  authority,  was  really 
a  remarkable  incident  I  was  not  a  little  exhilarated,  and  For 
rest  was  as  much  pleased,  but  he  demurred  to  the  excursion  to 
the  Crimea.  I  divined  immediately  the  nature  of  his  objection. 
He  had,  or  affected  to  have,  a  dislike  for  fine  company,  which 
he  always  alleged  proceeded  from  his  strong  democratic  senti 
ments  ;  but  I  knew,  from  a  long  acquaintance,  it  arose  from 
other  causes.  Though  a  man  of  great  intelligence,  he  had  worked 
so  sedulously  at  his  profession  that  he  had  given  little  attention 
to  other  matters.  Of  politics,  in  the  larger  sense,  he  had  only  a 
superficial  knowledge,  and  not  much  more  of  literature,  save  as 
connected  with  his  art.  He  had  no  facility  for  small-talk,  and 
was  much  addicted  to  a  dogmatic  expression  of  his  opinions  on 
current  topics.  His  intimate  friends  humoured  him,  but  in 
society  he  could  expect  no  such  tolerance.  He  was  proud  and 
sensitive  besides,  and  could  not  brook  to  play  a  secondary  rdle 
in  the  world  when  he  occupied  the  front  rank  on  the  stage.  He 
therefore  eschewed  society,  as  a  rule,  where  he  was  always  rest 
less  and  uncomfortable — gene,  as  the  French  say— and  sought 
the  companionship  of  a  limited  circle  who  adored  the  actor  and 
admired  the  man,  in  spite  of  his  waywardness.  We  were  often 
in  collision  on  the  subject  of  society.  I  was  as  fond  of  distingue" 
people  as  he  was  averse  to  them  ;  but  he  was  never  more  pleased, 
I  observed,  than  to  make  a  good  impression  when  he  conde 
scended  to  play  the  carpet-knight.  I  was  bent  on  the  visit  to 
the  Prince  Woronzow,  and  resolved  to  take  him  with  me.  Ac 
customed  to  his  peculiarities,  I  knew  how  to  tackle  him  ;  and  so, 
after  much  argument  and  more  persuasion,  he  yielded  the  point, 
and  agreed  to  accompany  me. 

The  next  morning  we  presented  our  letters  to  the  United 
States  Consul,  M.  Palli,  of  Greek  origin,  who  spoke  English  im 
perfectly.  He  was  exceedingly  courteous,  and  said  we  were  the 
first  American  travellers  he  had  met,  and  was  entirely  at  our 
service.  As  a  special  favour  he  loaned  me  the  latest  numbers  of 
Galignanfs  Messenger,  an  English  journal  published  in  Paris,  but 
remarked  it  was  not  allowed  to  enter  Russia,  and  that  I  must 
take  care  it  was  not  seen.  He  received  it  disguised  in  letter 
form.  He  pressed  us  to  dine  with  him,  which  we  accepted  for 
our  return  from  the  Crimea.  I  hurried  back  to  the  hotel  to 
devour  me  precious  Galignani,  which  in  the  way  of  an  omnium 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  235 

gatherum  was  never  equalled.  In  a  series  of  well-worded  para 
graphs  it  dished  up  the  news  of  the  world  without  comment,  and 
one  of  my  greatest  delights  was  to  roam  at  random  through  its 
variegated  columns. 

In  the  afternoon  General  Sontag  drove  up  to  carry  us  off  to 
his  country  house,  a  few  miles  from  Odessa.  It  was  a  hand 
some  and  commodious  residence,  in  the  centre  of  extensive 
grounds.  Madame  Sontag  was  a  very  amiable  and  unaffected 
lady,  a  Russian  by  birth,  and  an  authoress  of  repute.  Their 
only  child,  £  daughter  of  thirteen,  was  a  perfect  rosebud.  We 
took  a  stroll  before  dinner  over  a  portion  of  what  the  General 
called  his  farm.  Yankee-like,  he  was  very  practical,  and  be 
stowed  great  attention  on  the  cultivation  of  his  large  tract  of 
land.  I  had  seen  no  tillage  like  it  in  Russia.  It  was  considered 
the  model  farm  of  that  region,  and  famous  for  its  produce  of  all 
kinds.  He  had  just  erected  a  dairy  on  the  American  plan,  and 
visitors  came  daily  to  inspect  it.  This  was  the  first  time  we  had 
tasted  good  butter  in  Russia,  and  the  General  promised  us  daily 
supplies  of  all  the  good  things  at  his  command. 

After  an  excellent  repast  we  adjourned  to  the  drawing-room, 
and  it  was  like  passing  an  evening  in  Philadelphia,  for  the 
General  did  nothing  but  talk  of  his  native  town — of  its  familiar 
streets  and  buildings — and  was  eager  to  know  what  changes  and 
improvements  had  since  occurred.  Our  hearts  warmed  and 
expanded  as  we  dwelt  in  turn  on  this  topic,  so  dear  to  each  of  us; 
and  it  was  hardly  exhausted  when  the  General  spoke  in  Rus 
sian  to  his  pretty  daughter,  who  went  to  the  piano,  and  struck  up 
*  Hail,  Columbia !'  followed  by  *  Yankee  Doodle.'  These  patriotic 
strains,  at  this  distant  spot,  touched  chords  that  had  long  lain 
dormant,  and  nearly  brought  tears  to  our  eyes.  Forrest  told  me, 
as  we  drove  home,  that  he  was  as  near  as  could  be  jumping  up, 
and  shouting  '  Hurrah  for  Jackson !' — the  favourite  mode,  in 
those  days,  for  a  Democrat  to  express  his  strongest  emotions. 

We  were  breakfasting  gaily  next  morning,  when  Joseph  came 
in,  with  a  rueful  countenance,  to  announce  that  the  plague  was 
raging  at  Constantinople,  and  that  it  would  grieve  him  to  leave 
our  service,  but  he  could  not  venture  to  face  that  deadly  disease. 
This  was  a  double  blow — to  lose  Joseph,  and  confront  the 
plague.  I  was  less  disturbed  than  was  natural,  for  I  longed  to 
protract  my  sojourn  in  Odessa  ;  whereas  Forrest  had  insisted  on 
our  immediate  departure  for  Turkey  the  moment  we  returned 


236  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

from  the  Crimea.  The  grim  obstacle  that  suddenly  crossed  our 
path  was  sure  to  impose  delay ;  but,  prudently  concealing  my 
reflections,  I  awaited  my  friend's  view  of  the  difficulty.  After  a 
moody  silence  of  some  minutes,  he  asked, 

*  What  do  you  propose  ?' 

'  It  is  a  serious  matter,'  I  answered,  '  and  requires  considera 
tion.  To  retrace  our  steps  would  be  intolerable.  It  may  not  be 
so  bad  as  reported.  We  must  await  further  intelligence/ 

*  When  shall  we  hear  again  from  Constantinople  ?'  demanded 
Forrest,  turning  to  Joseph. 

'It  cannot  be  less  than  two  weeks,'  replied  the  Egyptian, 
*  for  that  is  the  duration  of  the  quarantine  for  all  vessels  from 
that  port' 

'  The  devil !'  growled  the  tragedian,  quite  out  of  temper. 

'  Very  hard  luck,'  I  murmured ;  '  but  what  can't  be  cured, 
you  know — ' 

Forrest  flew  off  at  once  to  the  Consul,  and  galloped  wildly  in 
every  direction  to  get  more  information  ;  but  no  alternative  pre 
sented  itself  but  the  delay  in  question,  or  a  full  retreat  on  St. 
Petersburg,  which  horrified  him.  No  vessels  were  advertised  for 
the  infected  city,  and  our  detention  in  Odessa  for  some  weeks 
was,  therefore,  a  certainty ;  but,  disguising  my  inward  satisfac 
tion,  I  placidly  counselled  my  disgusted  friend  to  submit  heroic 
ally  to  the  decrees  of  Fate. 


General  Sontag  was  as  good  as  his  word,  and  obtained  for 
us  two  cabins  on  the  Prince's  steamer,  bound  to  the  Crimea.  He 
kindly  called  to  conduct  us  to  the  quay,  where  we  embarked  at 
two  P.M.  on  a  very  pleasant  day,  and  I  was  buoyant  at  all  the 
enticing  novelty  in  store  for  me.  The  vessel  was  English  built, 
and,  though  small,  was  fitted  up  with  great  elegance.  There 
were  three  Russian  officers  on  board,  going  with  reports  to  the 
Governor-General.  They  had  been  informed  that  we  were  pro 
ceeding  on  a  visit  to  him,  and  we  all  struck  up  a  cordial  acquaint 
ance,  as  they  spoke  French  fluently.  After  dinner  they  drank  to 
our  nationality,  and  we  responded  by  toasting  the  Czar,  which 
means  Russia,  especially  with  the  army.  In  conversation  they 
manifested  no  predilection  for  England  or  France.  Indeed,  it 
was  not  difficult  to  discern  a  good  deal  of  the  opposite  feeling. 
They  displayed  great  partiality  for  the  United  States,  of  which, 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  237 

of  course,  they  knew  little,  save  that  it  was  so  far  away  that  it 
could  never  interfere  with  Russia.  We  had  a  stiff  blow  next 
morning  ;  and  the  gallant  officers,  who  would  have  attacked  a 
battery  gaily,  were*  obliged,  after  sundry  wry  faces,  to  succumb 
to  the  invisible  spirit  that  haunts  a  rolling  sea,  which,  as  Cassio 
says,  '  If  thou  hast  no  name  to  be  known  by,  let  us  call  thee 
devil.' 

I  amused  myself,  meanwhile,  glancing  over  a  French  book  on 
the  .Crimea.  What  a  history  this  unfortunate  island  has  under 
gone  !  It  is  usually  styled  an  island,  though  connected  by  the 
narrow  isthmus  of  Perekop  with  the  mainland.  Its  records  date 
back  as  far  as  the  eighth  century  before  Christ,  when  the 
Scythians  held  it ;  and  from  that  recondite  period  to  our  own 
time  it  has  passed  through  the  hands  of  a  succession  of  invaders, 
whose  number,  like  the  ghosts  in  Macbeth,  'stretch  out  to  the 
crack  of  doom.'  After  the  Greeks  and  Romans  were  done  with 
it,  then  came  Goths,  Huns,  Hungarians,  and  many  more,  till  in 
1237  the  Tartars  took  possession,  with  whom  the  Genoese  and 
Venetians  drove  a  brisk  trade.  In  1475  the  Turks  pounced 
upon  it,  made  it  tributary,  but  left  it  in  the  occupation  of  the 
Tartars  and  their  Khan.  In  1783  the  Russians  seized  it,  and 
set  to  work  at  once  to  utilise  it.  They  look  upon  it  as  the 
advanced  post  to  Constantinople.  Its  population  is  chiefly 
Tartar,  and  amounts  to  some  250,000.  It  made  immense  pro 
gress  under  the  vigorous  administration  of  the  Prince  Woron- 
zow.  He  profited  by  its  fertile  soil  to  develop  agriculture  on 
the  grandest  scale.  Its  mild  climate  tempted  him  to  cover  it 
with  vineyards,  and  the  manufacture  of  wine  became  an  im 
portant  industry.  He  converted  Sebastopol,  with  its  splendid 
harbour,  into  a  formidable  fortification.  Appreciating  its  charms 
as  a  residence,  he  constructed  a  chateau  worthy  of  the  feudal  age. 
In  short,  the  Crimea  under  his  management  became  an  invaluable 
acquisition. 

A  word  of  this  remarkable  man.  His  grandfather  was  Chan 
cellor  of  the  Empire  under  the  Empress  Elizabeth,  and  after 
wards  under  Catherine  II.,  whom  he  dissuaded  from  manying 
her  favourite,  Orloff.  His  father  was  the  Russian  ambassador 
for  many  years  in  England,  where  his  sister  married  the  Earl  of 
Pembroke.  Though  heir  to  immense  possessions,  he  entered 
the  army,  and  rose  to  the  highest  grades.  The  sobriquet  given 
him  of  the  '  fire-eater'  is  proof  of  his  daring  valour.  He  com- 


238  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

manded  the  army  of  occupation  in  France  after  the  abdication 
of  Napoleon  in  1814.  He  represented  Russia  in  1818  at  the 
Congress  'of  Aix-la-Chapelle.  In  1823  he  was  made  Governor- 
General  of  Southern  Russia,  an  empire  in  itself;  and  such  was 
the  confidence  of  the  Emperor,  that  his  power  was  absolute. 

At  5  P.M.  we  passed  the  Prince's  domain,  and  salutes  were 
fired  from  our  steamer,  and  returned  from  the  shore.  At  seven 
o'clock  we  anchored  off  Yalta,  a  Tartar  village,  and  then  rowed 
to  land.  It  was  fifteen  miles  to  the  Prince's  residence,  and  the 
night  was  dark,  so  we  postponed  our  departure  till  the  morning. 
We  found  accommodation  in  a  wretched  house,  that  was  in  every 
way  so  repulsive  that  we  would  gladly  have  returned  to  the 
steamer,  but  there  were  no  means  to  do  so.  After  a  scanty 
meal,  we  took  to  our  beds,  meaning  to  be  up  with  the  dawn. 
I  had  scarcely  stretched  myself  out  when  I  was  set  upon  by 
whole  battalions  of  creeping  things,  that  convinced  me  the 
Crimea  was  highly  favourable  to  animal  life.  I  sprang  to  my 
feet,  and,  folding  my  travelling-cloak  around  me,  laid  down  on 
a  bench  to  '  sleep  it  into  morn.'  I  soon  discovered  I  was  no 
better  off.  Macbeth  in  his  misery  exclaimed,  '  Methought  I 
heard  a  voice  cry,  Sleep  no  more.'  In  my  case  it  was  legions  of 
fleas  that  uttered  the  injunction,  and  I  passed  the  night  on  foot, 
walking  to  and  fro,  eager  to  scent  the  morning  air.  At  daybreak 
we  summoned  Joseph,  who  was  sleeping  soundly  in  an  adjoining- 
room,  to  make  ready  for  our  precipitate  flight,  and  we  drove  off 
filled  with  disgust  at  our  first  experience  of  Crimean  life.  The 
picturesque  beauty  of  the  country,  the  singing  of  birds,  the 
fragrance  of  wild  flowers,  and  the  genial  sunshine,  by  decrees 
restored  our  equanimity,  and  by  the  time  we  reached  Aloupka 
we  were  ourselves  again.  We  alighted  at  an  hotel  erected  by 
the  Prince,  not  far  from  his  residence,  for  the  occupation  of  his 
guests  not  sufficiently  intimate,  as  was  our  case,  to  claim  the 
hospitality  of  his  roof,  and  we  found  delightful  rooms  prepared 
for  us.  After  a  luxurious  bath,  in  which  any  surviving  flea  was 
drowned,  we  sat  down  to  breakfast  with  appetites  whetted  by 
the  morning's  drive.  In  the  course  of  the  day  we  called  at  the 
castle,  a  truly  royal  structure  in  the  style  of  the  moyen  dge,  and 
of  grand  dimensions.  It  was  built  of  a  dark  granite  found  in  the 
Crimea.  The  Russian  standard  was  flying  from  one  of  the 
towers,  which  revived  reminiscences  of  the  feudal  days,  when  it 
was  customary  *  to  hang  out  the  banner  on  the  outward  walls.' 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  239 

We  left  our  letters  and  cards,  but  were  told  that  our  noble  host 
had  gone  out  for  the  day  on  a  tour  of  inspection.  In  the  afternoon, 
horses  from  the  Prince's  stables  were  sent  to  us  with  a  guide, 
and  we  set  off  on  a  ride  through  the  adjoining  country,  which 
was  singularly  wild  and  full  of  charmr  We  dismounted  more 
than  once  as  we  rode  through  some  Tartar  villages,  to  inspect 
their  abodes,  which  were  of  primeval  simplicity.  In  these  huts 
this  semi-barbarous  race  have  lived  for  centuries,  preserving  the 
traits  that  have  always  distinguished  them,  and  clinging  fanatic 
ally  to  their  quaint  usages  and  faith.  They  have  no  love  for 
their  new  masters,  and  shrink  timidly  from  all  association.  On 
one  occasion  I  observed  on  a  neighbouring  hill  a  Tartar  church, 
or  mosque,  surmounted  by  a  dome  with  the  Crescent  soaring  above. 
This  was  the  first  time  I  had  seen,  in  real  life,  this  emblem  of 
the  infidel,  and  I  contemplated  it  naturally  with  lively  interest. 

Next  morning,  M.  Galera,  the  chief  secretary  of  the  Prince, 
called  upon  us  in  his  name  to  invite  us  to  dinner  for  that  day, 
and  proposed  to  escort  us  through  the  grounds  of  the  castle. 
We  went  wandering  about  full  of  admiration,  when  we  remarked 
a  tall  slirn  man,  in  an  undress  uniform,  approaching  us  down 
one  of  the  avenues,  and  M.  Galera  informed  us  it  was  the  Prince 
Woronzow.  We  advanced  towards  him,  and  he  accosted  us  with 
the  utmost  cordiality.  He  courteously  conducted  us  to  the  best 
points  of  view  for  the  surrounding  scenery,  chatting  in  English, 
which  he  spoke  perfectly,  having  passed  his  youth  in  England 
with  his  father.  His  manner  was  easy,  natural,  and  dignified. 
His  face  indicated  great  firmness  of  character,  blended  with  an 
expression  of  kind-heartedness.  He  was  apparently  over  fifty, 
and  his  short-cut  hair,  only  partially  concealed  by  his  military 
cap,  was  quite  gray.  After  walking  about  with  us  for  some 
time,  he  bade  us  good-morning,  saying  that  he  expected  us  to 
dinner  that  evening.  On  returning  to  the  hotel,  we  found 
horses  in  waiting,  and  we  started  off  at  once  for  a  ride,  accom 
panied  by  M.  Galera.  We  got  home  in  time  to  make  our  toilet 
for  dinner,  and  drove  over  at  the  appointed  hour  to  the  castle. 

On  entering  the  principal  drawing-room  we  found  a  large 
company  assembled.  Besides  the  members  of  the  Prince's  staff, 
civil  and  military,  there  were  numerous  guests  sojourning  at  the 
chateau.  We  were  presented  to  the  Princess  Woronzow,  a  hand 
some  woman,  in  the  prime  of  life,  exceedingly  affable,  yet  with 
an  air  of  dignity  befitting  her  station.  After  a  few  moments  she 


240       ,  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

presented  me  to  Madame  Narishkine,  a  relative  of  the  imperial 
family.  One  of  her  ancestors  was  the  mother  of  Peter  the  Great. 
She  was  a  lady  of  mature  age,  and,  in  spite  of  her  lofty  rank, 
her  manner  was  most  unassuming,  and  her  countenance  denoted 
a  benevolence  of  disposition  that  was  very  winning.  In  the 
course  of  conversation  she  remarked  I  was  the  first  American  she 
had  ever  seen,  and  frankly  admitted  she  was  surprised  at  the 
fairness  of  my  complexion,  as  she  had  always  supposed  the 
Americans  were  tawny  coloured.  She  professed  unbounded 
admiration  for  Cooper's  novels,  that  she  had  read  over  and  over 
again,  so  charmed  was  she  by  the  novelty  of  the  scenes  and 
characters  introduced,  utterly  unlike  the  compositions  of  any 
European  writers.  She  singled  out  the  Pioneers  and  the  Last 
of  the  Mohicans  as  especial  favourites,  and  said  that  his  country 
must  be  very  proud  of  such  a  genius.  Just  before  dinner  the 
Prince  came  to  me,  saying  he  wished  to  introduce  me  to  the 
Princess  Galitzin,  whom  I  was  to  escort  to  the  table.  I  acknow 
ledged  the  compliment,  but  dreaded  being  assigned  to  a  person 
who  might  be  anything  but  agreeable.  My  surprise  was  only 
equal  to  my  delight  to  find  myself  in  the  presence  of  one  of  the 
loveliest  women  of  the  whole  group.  She  was  a  blonde,  with  a 
profusion  of  auburn  hair,  blue  eyes  full  of  archness,  an  exquisite 
complexion,  above  medium  height,  and  a  figure  positively  fault 
less.  Her  manners  were  quite  Parisian  in  grace  and  vivacity, 
which  was  soon  explained  when  she  told  me  that  she  had 
passed  some  time  in  the  French  capital,  which  she  extolled  to 
the  skies.  Here  was  a  theme  most  congenial  to  us  both,  and 
we  did  nothing  all  the  dinner-time  but  talk  in  raptures  of  dear 
Paris.  I  did  not  fail  to  observe,  however,  in  spite  of  my  sprightly 
conversation,  that  the  banqueting-hall  was  worthy  of  this  splendid 
residence.  It  was  of  great  size,  very  lofty,  with  an  oaken  roof 
in  the  Gothic  style.  The  dinner  was  sumptuous,  and  all  in  the 
French  style.  Our  host  sent  me  some  champagne  to  try  that 
was  manufactured  on  his  estate  in  the  Crimea,  quite  equal  to  the 
best  French  wine  I  had  ever  drunk.  Amid  all  this  splendour 
and  luxury,  I  could  hardly  realise  the  fact  that  I  was  revelling 
on  an  island  in  the  Black  Sea,  which  I  had  always  regarded  as 
beyond  the  pale  of  civilisation. 

After  dinner  the  company  dispersed  according  to  their  tastes. 
Some  of  the  men  retired  to  smoke.  Others  sat  down  to  cards. 
For  my  part,  I  was  so  fascinated  with  my  lovely  acquaintance 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  241 

that  I  clung  to  her  side,  whilst  I  discovered  no  symptoms  of 
weariness.  We  wandered  over  the  castle,  visited  the  conserva 
tories,  inspected  the  picture-gallery,  constantly  recurring  to  the 
topic  so  grateful  to  us  both — the  charms  of  Paris.  The  evening 
sped  away  all  too  quickly,  and  it  was  near  midnight  before  I 
withdrew.  Forrest  had  disappeared  soon  after  dinner,  as  I 
expected,  and  when  I  got  home  he  was  already  in  bed.  This 
fairy-like  life,  as  it  seemed  to  me,  lasted  for  some  days.  The 
weather  was  beautiful,  and  I  rode  or  walked  daily  with  the 
Princess  Galitzin,  meeting  her  in  the  evening  at  dinner  at  the 
castle.  I  forgot  all  about  Odessa,  my  travels,  and  everything 
else. 

Luckily  Forrest  had  become  greatly  interested  in  a  Polish 
Countess,  whose  husband  had  been  engaged  in  a  conspiracy  at 
Warsaw,  and  was  now  the  tenant  of  a  prison.  His  wife,  knowing 
the  influence  of  the  Prince  Woronzow  with  the  Emperor,  hurried 
off  with  her  brother  to  Aloupka,  to  entreat  him  to  obtain  the 
pardon  of  the  unfortunate  captive.  She  was  young  and  hand 
some,  a  trifle  stout,  but  stduisante  in  manner,  and  singularly 
intelligent.  Her  romantic  mission,  coupled  with  her  good  looks, 
deeply  interested  my  friend,  and,  democratic  as  he  was,  he  only 
wished  that  he  was  the  Emperor,  that  he  might  make  this  dis 
consolate  lady  the  happiest  of  wives.  I  was  exceedingly  glad 
that  Forrest's  sympathies  were  so  keenly  stirred  in  the  fate  of 
the  charming  Countess's  husband,  and  I  could  perceive  he  was 
in  no  greater  hurry  to  quit  the  Crimea  than  I  was.  Nor  could 
I  wonder  that  he  preferred  passing  so  much  of  his  time  at  the 
hotel,  whilst  I  gave  most  of  mine  to  the  castle.  All  this  was 
too  pleasant  to  last  long ;  and  my  elysium  vanished  when,  on 
the  fifth  day,  Prince  Woronzow  announced  that  he  was  going  to 
Odessa  next  morning  to  meet  the  Earl  of  Durham,  the  new 
British  Ambassador  to  St.  Petersburg,  who  had  come  round  by 
the  Mediterranean  and  the  Black  Sea,  and  was  now  shut  up  in 
quarantine,  but  would  be  emancipated  at  the  end  of  the  week. 
The  Prince  offered  to  take  us  on  his  way  back  to  see  the  fortifi 
cations  he  was  erecting  at  Sebastopol,  and,  whilst  I  thanked 
him  for  his  courtesy,  I  felt  I  would  a  thousand  times  rather  stay 
where  I  was. 

Forrest  was  more  fortunate,  for  the  Countess  was  going  back 
to  Odessa  with  the  Prince,  who  had  promised  to  obtain  an 
audience  for  her  from  the  Emperor,  with  the  boon,  perhaps,  of 

R 


242  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

a  pardon  for  the  conspirator.  Whereas  my  lovely  blonde,  with 
her  husband,  had  engaged  to  remain  some  time  longer  with  the 
Princess  Woronzow,  who  passed  the  whole  autumn  in  the 
Crimea.  On  my  last  evening  at  the  castle  the  enchanting 
Princess  Galitzin  saw  that  I  was  anything  but  elated  at  my  near 
departure. 

1  You  are-  very  silly/  she  said,  *  to  hurry  away  in  this  fashion  ; 
you  have  seen  so  little  of  this  picturesque  island.' 

'  You  mock  me,  Princess,'  I  replied.  '  How  can  I  escape  ? 
I  have  half  a  mind  to  tumble  over  a  precipice,  and  be  laid  up 
for  a  month  at  least.' 

She  was  much  amused. 

I  But  you  might,'  she  continued,  '  without  such  an  heroic  feat, 
manage  to  linger  a  little  longer  if  you  cared  to  do  so.' 

'Suggest  it,  pray,'  I  said  earnestly,  'and  I  will  snatch  at  it 
with  the  desperation  of  a  doomed  man.' 

She  mused  for  a  moment,  but  whether  she  was  puzzled,  or 
feared  to  betray  too  much  solicitude,  I  know  not. 

'  Well,'  she  remarked  at  last,  '  if  you  will  go,  my  best  wishes 
accompany  you.  But  you  are  little  aware  of  what  you  lose. 
You  have  not  seen  half  the  beauties  of  the  Crimea  yet.' 

I 1  have  seen  one,'  I  answered,  gazing  in  her  sparkling  eyes, 
'  that  will  suffice  for  a  long  time.' 

1  You  are  very  complimentary,'  she  rejoined,  slightly  flushing  ; 
'  but  we  shall  meet,  I  daresay,  some  day  in  Paris.' 

'  That  hope  alone  renders  my  departure  supportable.  Will 
you  allow  me/  I  asked,  '  to  send  you  my  banker's  address  ?' 

'  Volontiersl  she  replied,  and  extended  her  hand,  which  I 
clasped  quite  fervently  ;  and  so  we  parted. 

Thanking  the  Princess  Woronzow  gratefully  for  her  kind 
reception,  I  wandered  full  of  emotion  homewards.  I  found  For 
rest  in  high  glee,  for  he  told  me  the  Countess  intended  to  pass  a 
few  days  in  Odessa  with  an  old  friend. 

At  noon  next  day  the  Prince  and  suite  came  on  board  his 
steamer  lying  off  Yalta,  where  we  had  previously  arrived,  and 
orders  were  immediately  given  to  head  for  Sebastopol,  some 
sixty  miles  distant.  The  weather  was  fine.  The  day  wore  off 
pleasantly.  We  entered  the  harbour  of  Sebastopol  soon  after 
ten  P.M.,  and  salutes  were  fired  in  honour  of  the  Prince's  arrival 
from  various  ships  of  war  and  the  batteries  on  shore.  Soon  after, 
we  all  retired.  I  came  on  deck  early  next  morning,  and  was 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  243 

struck  by  the  beauty  of  the  scene.  We  were  lying  near  the 
middle  of  the  harbour,  which  was  of  vast  extent  and  completely 
landlocked,  with  but  a  single  entrance  securely  protected.  Nu 
merous  vessels  of  war  were  scattered  about  with  their  streamers 
flying,  some  of  them  of  great  size,  and  striking  specimens  of 
naval  architecture.  The  water  was  of  a  deep  blue,  and  repre 
sented  to  be  of  extraordinary  depth,  so  that  ships  of  any  draught 
might  anchor  right  off  the  shore.  Small  boats  were  flying  about 
in  all  directions  to  and  from  the  land,  and  the  sight  in  the  bright 
morning  sun  was  full  of  charm.  The  Prince  had  already  gone 
ashore,  leaving  word  for  us  to  follow  after  breakfast  under  the 
escort  of  one  of  his  suite.  We  found  him  at  the  house  of  the 
admiral  of  the  port,  and  soon  after  carriages  were  ordered  to 
make  a  tour  of  the  works.  Amongst  other  things  we  visited  was 
a  dry  dock  constructed  of  Russian  granite,  on  the  most  approved 
plans,  which  was  nearly  finished.  I  found  the  engineer-in-chief 
was  an  Englishman  of  the  name  of  Upton,  who  had  been  in  the 
employment  of  the  Government  since  1826.  His  task  was  to 
convert  Sebastopol  into  one  of  the  most  perfect  naval  stations  in 
Europe,  and  unlimited  means  were  at  his  command.  He  was 
an  active  intelligent  man,  and  in  conversation  complained  of  the 
dulness  and  sluggishness  of  the  hordes  of  workmen  under  his- 
control,  who  for  the  most  part  were  serfs,  and  required  constant 
supervision  and  direction.  It  was  intended,  he  said,  after  the 
naval  programme  was  carried  out,  to  set  to  work  at  the  land 
defences  of  Sebastopol,  and  a  series  of  fortifications  were  pro 
jected  which  would  defy  the  world  in  arms. 

When  this  part  of  the  inspection  was  completed,  the  Prince 
invited  us  to  visit  some  of  the  ships  in  the  harbour,  and  one  of 
his  officers  was  detailed  to  escort  us.  He  said  he  would  expect 
us  to  dinner  at  the  admiral's  residence  at  five  o'clock.  We  rowed 
off  to  the  *  Warsovy,'  one  of  the  largest  ships  of  the  line.  She  was 
only  a  year  old,  and  great  sums  had  been  expended  to  make  her 
a  nonpareil  in  every  respect.  Her  length  was  205  feet,  and  56  in 
beam,  drawing  23  feet.  Her  armament  of  36-pounders  amounted 
to  140,  though  only  rated  at  120.  Her  complement  was  1000 
men.  She  was  certainly  a  beautiful  model,  and  manoeuvred 
easily  in  spite  of  her  bulk.  We  afterwards  boarded  several  other 
vessels  of  inferior  size,  and  all  seemed  to  my  unpractised  eye  in 
a  high  state  of  efficiency.  The  officers  for  the  most  part  struck 
me  as  very  young,  and  their  experience  of  the  ocean  was  con- 


244  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

fined  altogether  to  the  Black  Sea,  though  doubtless  looking  for 
ward  some  day  to  a  larger  field  of  navigation.  This  finished  our 
day's  work,  and  I  was  sorry  that  no  time  was  left  to  run  over  the 
town  of  Sebastopol,  only  founded  in  1786  by  Catherine  II.,  and 
which  was  growing  apace.  The  population  was  estimated  at  some 
40,000.  I  hastened  back  to  our  steamer  to  dress  for  dinner  ;  but 
Forrest  pleaded  fatigue,  and  begged  me  to  make  his  excuses  to 
the  Prince.  The  truth  was,  he  preferred  passing  the  evening  in 
the  society  of  the  Countess,  who  remained  on  board,  to  paying 
homage  to  the  '  big  wigs'  of  Sebastopol. 

I  arrived  just  in  time  to  be  presented  to  the  admiral  and  his 
lady  before  dinner  was  announced.  All  the  officers  of  the  sta 
tion,  naval  and  military,  as  well  as  those  of  the  fleet,  were  sum 
moned  to  meet  the  Governor-General,  the  chief  guest  of  the 
occasion.  The  number  was  large,  and  the  various  tables  were 
resplendent  with  glittering  uniforms  and  showy  decorations.  I 
was  the  only  one  in  a  black  coat,  and  felt  duly  humiliated  by  my 
insignificant  appearance.  At  the  close  of  the  feast  a  single  toast 
was  given — '  The  Health  of  the  Governor-General.'  The  Prince 
rose  immediately,  and,  bowing  to  the  company,  sat  down.  In 
England  or  the  United  States  a  harangue  would  have  been 
expected,  but  in  Russia  speech-making  is  not  in  vogue.  After 
the  dinner  I  was  presented  by  the  Prince  to  many  of  the  leading 
personages  present.  Not  a  few  of  them  were  very  old  men,  and 
had  taken  part  in  the  campaigns  against  Napoleon.  I  had  a 
long  and  interesting  chat  with  Baron  Rosen,  the  commandant  of 
the  town,  who  had  seen  much  service,  and  was  covered  with 
orders  from  the  various  sovereigns  of  Europe.  I  was  struck 
by  his  extreme  simplicity  of  manner  and  affable  demeanour. 
The  fact  is,  the  Russians  of  the  highest  class  are  the  most  unpre 
tending  people  I  have  ever  met,  which  must  be  set  down  to  their 
good  breeding.  They  have  none  of  the  ceremonious  politeness 
of  the  French,  and  still  less  the  ill -disguised  hauteur  of  the 
English. 

At  eight  o'clock  the  Prince  and  his  suite  returned  to  his 
steamer,  escorted  by  the  admiral,  commandant,  and  numerous 
officers.  The  moment  we  got  on  board,  orders  were  given  to 
proceed  to  Odessa,  and  we  moved  off  amid  a  tremendous  boom 
ing  of  guns.  The  night  was  fine,  the  moon  was  up,  and  the  sea 
smooth.  The  Prince  was  in  a  humour  for  a  chat,  and  desired 
me  to  sit  down  beside  him. 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  245 

He  asked  me  many  questions  concerning  the  United  States, 
and  seemed  anxious  about  their  destiny. 

'  It  is  a  strange  experiment/  he  said,  '  to  put  a  government 
in  the  hands  of  the  masses.  It  may  answer  in  your  case,  where 
you  have  the  continent  pretty  much  to  yourselves  ;  but  in  Europe, 
split  up  as  we  are  into  various  States,  with  conflicting  interests 
and  large  standing  armies,  a  democratic  government  strikes  me 
•as  impossible.  You  change  your  executive  and  legislature  at 
short  intervals,  and,  as  both  must  represent  the  momentary  views 
of  the  electors,  a  consistent  policy  must  be  out  of  the  question.' 

'  Fortunately,  as  your  Excellency  remarked/  I  replied,  *  we 
are  not  surrounded  by  armed  and  rival  States,  and,  therefore, 
under  no  necessity  to  be  always  on  our  best  behaviour,  and  with 
circumspection  obliged  to  shape  our  course.  In  short,  we  are 
happily  exempt  from  a  foreign  policy  other  than  our  commercial 
interests  require.' 

'  Yes/  continued  the  Prince,  '  and  that  is  very  favourable  to 
the  political  problem  you  have  undertaken  ;  but  though  you 
have  no  foreign  policy,  demanding  the  highest  intellect  of  the 
country,  you  have  domestic  doctrines  not  entirely  in  harmony. 
You  have  a  tariff  system  sustained  by  the  North  and  opposed 
by  the  South.  You  have  a  system  of  slavery  supported  by  the 
South  and  condemned  by  the  North.  These  opposite  views  are 
founded  on  antagonistic  interests,  and  how  is  a  collision  sooner 
or  later  to  be  avoided  ?' 

'  The  collision/  I  answered,  *  will  take  place  at  the  polls,  and 
the  law  of  the  majority  will  decide  the  dispute.' 

'  That  might  be  depended  upon/  pursued  the  Prince, '  if  men 
were  always  controlled  by  reason,  but  the  history  of  the  world 
shows  that  human  passions  shape  the  destinies  of  mankind.  If 
ever  the  minority  with  you  consider  themselves  unjustly  op 
pressed,  and  sacrificed  to  the  interests  of  the  majority,  they  will 
retire  from  the  compact  entered  into  between  them,  and,  if  the 
majority  resists,  civil  war  ensues.' 

'  Your  Excellency  will  pardon  me/  I  rejoined,  'for  saying  that 
your  argument  is  based  on  the  past  history  of  the  world,  when 
the  people  had  no  control  over  their  government.  Monarchs 
and  statesmen  have,  from  time  immemorial,  allowed  their  jeal 
ousies  to  involve  them  in  wars  whose  evil  consequences  did  not 
fall  on  themselves.  But  in  the  United  States,  where  the  people 
alone  govern — a  people  not  only  intelligent  but  highly  educated 


246  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

— is  it  likely  they  would  allow  their  passions  to  drown  their 
reason,  when  the  blood  and  money  expended  in  war  would  be 
their  own  ?' 

*  I  grant  you/  replied  the  Prince,  after  a  pause, '  it  does  seem 
unlikely  ;  but  after  all,  how  far  do  the  people  really  govern  with 
you  ?     Their  fate  is  in  the  hands  of  the  men,  the  politicians, 
elected  as   their  representatives,  who    are  the  governing  body 
whilst  in  office.     They  make  the  laws,  and  the  people,  if  dissatis 
fied,  are  obliged  to  abide  by  them.     These  laws,  as  your  tariff 
system  proves,  are  in  the  interest  of  a  section,  in  the  interest  of 
a  class,  the  manufacturer  and  capitalist.     Your  politicians  of  the 
North,  if  they  are  in  majority,  pass  laws  favouring  their  section 
at  the  expense  of  the  others.     If  they  were  guided  by  reason,  as 
you  say,  they  would  foresee  the  result  of  this  selfish  legislation. 
I  frequently  read  the  heated  discussions  that  occur  in  Washing 
ton,  and  I  see  far  more  of  passion  in  the  debates  than  calm 
reason.     I  admit  the  people  may  be  cooler  than  the  politicians 
inflamed  by  party  strife  ;  but  the  people,  if  they  do  not  catch  the 
infection,    can    do  nothing  to    stifle  words    or  prevent    party 
manoeuvres  that  may  cause  irreparable  mischief.     If  war,  foreign 
or  domestic,  or  legislation  likely  to  provoke  it,  were  always  sub 
mitted  to  the  popular  vote,  you  might  get  on  peacefully  enough  ; 
but  this  must  be  the  work  of  a  conclave  of  politicians,  and  before 
the  people  can  act  the  evil  is  done.' 

After  pondering  for  a  few  moments,  I  answered, '  I  cannot 
deny  that  all  governments,  democratic  or  monarchical,  must  be 
confided  to  a  class  competent  to  conduct  it.  The  people  with 
us  delegate  their  authority  to  individuals,  who,  in  executive  or 
legislative  positions,  are  obliged  to  carry  out  the  views  of  those 
they  represent.' 

*  Divided  always  in  two  camps,  the  majority  and  minority/ 
observed  the  Prince. 

'  Undoubtedly.  If  the  representative  is  false  to  his  mandate, 
he  is  punished  by  dismissal/ 

*  Not  before  his  lease  of  power  expires/  remarked  the  Prince  ; 
'  till  then,  he  and  those  acting  with  him  pursue  the  course  their 
party  interests  dictate,  and  their  constituencies  are  necessarily 
bound.     Furthermore,  the  political  class  with  you,  as  elsewhere, 
are  skilful  enough  to  perplex  the  judgment  of  the  people,  and 
to  induce  them  often  to  adopt  a  policy  opposed  to  their  true 
interests.' 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  247 

'Against  that  danger/  I  rejoined,  'we  have,  in  the  United 
States,  the  protection  of  a  free  press,  which  enlightens  the  popu 
lar  mind  and  checks  political  manoeuvres.' 

'  As  far  as  I  can  see,'  returned  the  Prince,  '  your  press  is 
simply  the  organ  of  party,  and  all  its  comments  on  passing 
events  are  coloured  by  party  prejudice.  It  seems  to  me  quite 
under  the  control  of  your  politicians,  and  cares  little  for  the 
general  interests.  I  have  never  seen  an  American  journal 
entirely  independent,  which  expressed  opinions  regardless  of 
party  expediency  or  sectional  advantage.'* 

*  I  am  really  surprised,'  I  exclaimed,  *  to  find  your  Excellency 
so  minutely  informed  of  the  state  of  things  in  the  United  States.' 

'  It  is  the  business,'  he  replied,  '  of  our  Ministers  abroad  to 
send  the  fullest  information  concerning  the  various  countries 
they  reside  in  ;  but  I  have  taken  especial  pains  to  know  what 
was  transpiring  in  your  land,  since  the  scheme  of  government 
initiated  there  is  something  new  in  politics.  The  republics  of 
antiquity  and  of  the  Middle  Ages  were  simply  oligarchies.  This 
is  the  first  time  a  democracy  has  essayed  to  govern.  It  remains 
to  be  seen  if  the  greatest  good  of  the  greatest  number — your 
favourite  dogma — can  be  achieved  with  the  cheerful  consent  of 
the  lesser  number.  If  not,  then  your  experiment  will  be  a 
failure.  I  fear  your  democratic  government  is  liable  to  the  same 
vices  as  all  other  forms,  for  I  can  see  no  proofs  that  mankind  in 
your  country  is  composed  of  different  materials  than  elsewhere, 
— that  it  is  more  guided  by  reason  and  less  by  passion,  or  more 
insensible  to  self-interest.  In  that  case,  what  is  to  save  you 
from  the  same  vicissitudes  and  misfortunes  that  have  befallen 
other  governments  ?' 

'  Doubtless,'  I  said,  '  all  depends  on  the  sagacity  of  the 
people.  If  they  do  not  see  clearly  it  is  their  interest  to  live 
in  harmony,  and  to  push  their  fortunes  in  a  spirit  of  com 
promise,  one  section  not  seeking  to  enrich  itself  at  the  expense 
of  the  others — if  they  fail  to  pursue  this  upright  and  patriotic 
course,  then  they  must  become  the  football  of  the  politicians, 
who  always  seek  renown  in  controversy,  and  love  to  "ride  on  the 
whirlwind  and  direct  the  storm." ' 

'  You  are  quite  right,'  declared  the  Prince  ;  '  all  depends  on 
your  people,  who  are  said  to  be  shrewd  and  practical  beyond 

*  It  must  be  borne  in  mind  this  conversation  took  place  in  1835,  when  our  press 
was  far  less  independent  than  now. 


248  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

most  others.  If  they  discountenance  legislation  that  benefits 
one  section  to  the  detriment  of  another — if  they  restrain  the 
politicians  from  involving  them  in  dangerous  disputes  with  one 
another — if  they  prevent  their  passions  being  inflamed  by  gaudy 
rhetoric — then  all  may  go  well.  But  this  is  expecting  too  much 
of  human  nature,  at  least  such  human  nature  as  exists  on  this 
side  of  the  Atlantic.  It  is  natural  the  manufacturing  North 
should  covet  a  high  tariff,  but  it  is  unnatural  to  expect  the  agri 
cultural  South  and  West  should  accept  it  without  resistance.  It 
is  the  interest  of  the  people  to  arrange  such  difficulties  in  a  spirit 
of  concord,  but  it  is  the  interest  of  the  politicians  to  prevent 
pacific  solutions  ;  for,  as  you  say,  they  seek  notoriety  by  preach 
ing  discord,  and  provoke  battles  in  which  their  dupes  only  are 
killed.  I  trust  your  people  may  never  become  their  victims/ 

'  Your  Excellency  seems  to  entertain  a  lively  horror  of  the 
political  fraternity,'  I  remarked. 

'  Yes,'  he  answered,  '  I  consider  them  the  pests  of  modern 
society.  Look  at  poor  France,  which  has  suffered  so  dreadfully 
from  these  cunning  incendiaries.  The  politicians  of  the  first 
Revolution,  for  the  sake  of  power  and  pelf,  deluged  the  country 
in  blood,  and,  after  cutting  off  everybody's  head  who  opposed 
them,  set  to  work  at  last  to  behead  each  other.  Napoleon  put 
his  foot  upon  them  ;  but  Louis  XVIII.  no  sooner  returned  than 
they  began  to  stir  up  civil  feuds,  which  ended  in  the  Revolution 
of  1830.  They  are  now  as  hard  at  work  as  ever,  quarrelling, 
conspiring,  intriguing,  utterly  reckless  of  the  welfare  of  the 
country,  ready  at  any  moment  to  precipitate  France  into  civil 
or  foreign  war,  if  one  set  can  only  turn  the  other  set  out,  and 
jump  in  their  places.' 

'  That  is  exactly  the  view  I  take/  was  my  reply,  '  of  the 
squabbles  between  Guizot  and  Thiers.  Both  aspire  to  be  the 
leading  Minister,  and  to  gain  their  point  would  throw  the  country 
into  revolution  to-morrow.  Unfortunately,  the  people  don't 
understand  the  game,  and,  worked  up  first  by  one  and  then  by 
the  other  to  a  pitch  of  frenzy,  they  take  to  the  street,  and  begin 
butchering  each  other,  whilst  the  politicians  aforesaid  chuckle 
over  their  credulity.' 

'  That  is  the  simple  history  of  all  French  revolutions/  said 
the  Prince. 

'  It  strikes  me/  I  went  on  to  say,  'that  the  English  people 
are  not  so  easily  gulled  by  their  political  tricksters.' 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  249 

4  They  were  hoaxed,  in  fact,  the  same  way,'  said  the  Prince, 
'  in  1642,  when  one  faction  in  Parliament  got  the  country  to  take 
up  their  quarrel  with  the  rival  one,  and  civil  war  ensued.  Charles 
I.  lost  his  head,  and  Cromwell  took  his  place.  The  end  of  it  was 
that  Charles  II.  was  enthusiastically  proclaimed  his  father's  suc 
cessor.  Since  then  the  politicians  have  been  kept  quiet  by  a 
great  commercial  class  which  has  grown  up  in  England,  chiefly 
composed  of  the  middle  rank,  whose  interest  is  peace,  and  whose 
passion  is  trade.  Any  political  agitation  likely  to  disturb  trade 
and  commerce  is  immediately  called  to  order,  and  the  politicians 
are  then  obliged  to  buffet  each  other  only  in  their  struggles  for 
place.  They  are  not  allowed  to  appeal  to  the  people  and  stir 
up  civil  discords.  The  Reform  Bill  of  three  years  ago  would 
have  produced  a  civil  war  two  hundred  years  ago  ;  but  neither 
the  madcaps  of  the  aristocracy,  nor  the  demagogues  of  the  lower 
classes,  are  now  suffered  by  the  wealth  and  intelligence  of  the 
country  to  sow  the  seeds  of  disorder.' 

1  In  Russia,'  I  observed,  '  you  have  neither  the  bane  nor  the 
antidote — neither  politicians  nor  middle  class.' 

'  Happily,  no,'  returned  the  Prince  ;  '  we  are  still  a  long  way 
off  from  that  state  of  society  which  engenders  politicians,  and 
parliaments,  and  congresses.  Our  national  life  is  very  young. 
It  may  be  said  to  date  from  Peter  the  Great,  at  the  end  of  the 
sixteenth  century.  At  all  events,  our  career  as  a  European 
nation  then  began.  Before  that  period  we  were  a  semi-barbarous 
people,  eternally  at  war  with  nations  of  a  similar  character.  The 
organising  genius  of  the  Czar  Peter  welded  us  into  a  nation,  and 
gave  us  a  mission  to  achieve  which  was  of  a  civilising  character. 
Our  role  is  to  overcome  and  reduce  to  order  the*  belligerent 
populations  to  the  east  and  south.  The  work  is  beneficent  as  it 
is  imperious.  It  may  be  likened  to  what  you  are  engaged  in  on 
the  North  American  continent.  You  are  in  constant  warfare 
with  the  Indian  tribes  in  possession  of  vast  tracts  of  land  utterly 
useless  in  their  hands.  When  that  is  accomplished  you  will,  no 
doubt,  spread  your  civilisatiort  over  the  country  south  of  you,  in 
the  occupation  of  mongrel  races,  who  are  incapable  of  organi 
sation.  Fortunately,  in  your  case,  there  are  no  surround 
ing  nations  suspicious  of  your  motives  and  jealous  of  your 
growth/ 

'I  may  congratulate  your  Excellency,' I  remarked/ on  the 
success  of  Russian  arms,  and,  still  more,  of  Russian  diplomacy, 


250  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

over  the  jealousies  you  allude  to.  Your  territorial  development 
has  even  been  more  rapid  than  ours.' 

'  That  is  not  a  little  due/  said  the  Prince,  smiling, '  to  the  fact 
that  we  have  had  no  troublesome  politicians  to  obstruct  the 
action  of  our  Government.  The  Czar,  under  the  advice  of  a  few 
able  counsellors  whom  he  selects,  has  only  to  give  his  orders  to 
open  a  negotiation  or  to  begin  a  war,  and  the  thing  is  done. 
How  could  we  have  made  the  progress  you  speak  of  if  the  Czar 
had  to  consult  the  rival  leaders  of  parties,  or  take  a  vote  in 
Parliament  ?' 

*  Yet/  I  observed,  '  in  spite  of  these  drawbacks,  England  has 
annexed  a  great  empire  in  India,  and  is  every  day  adding  to 
her  territory  in  all  parts  of  the  globe.' 

'  That  is  partially  true/  replied  the  Prince  ;  '  but  the  English 
conquests  in  India  were  effected  by  a  company  of  traders,  the 
"  East  India  Company,"  who  wielded  an  army,  and  were  in  a 
measure  independent.  Still  their  two  great  generals,  Clive  and 
Hastings,  were  persecuted  by  the  politicians  at  home,  and  were 
both  put  on  trial  in  Parliament  for  the  crime  of  increasing  the 
power  and  riches  of  England.  But  the  mission  of  England  and 
ours  is  different.  Hers  is  a  commercial  one.  Napoleon  styled 
England  une  nation  de  boutiquiers  ("  a  nation  of  shopkeepers"), 
and  it  is  mainly  true.  Her  purpose  is  trade.  Our  role  is  a  mili 
tary  one,  and  if  not  more  disinterested  it  is  equally  useful.  Our 
task,  as  I  said  before,  is  to  reduce  barbarous  nations  to  civil 
order  and  a  regular  mode  of  life.  This  can  be  done  only  by 
military  force.  A  great  outcry  is  raised  at  our  war  with  the 
Turks.  This  is  silly,  if  not  hypocritical.  The  Turks  are  an 
Asiatic  horde,  who  came  into  Europe  as  invaders,  and  wherever 
they  have  maintained  themselves  barbarism  has  endured.  Why 
should  we  be  blamed  for  righting  the  Turks,  any  more  than  the 
combined  forces  of  Venice,  Spain,  and  the  Papacy,  which  de 
stroyed  the  Turkish  fleet  in  1571,  or  the  combined  navies  of 
France,  England,  and  Russia,  which  crushed  the  Turkish  fleet 
in  1827?  Europe  regarded  these  victories  as  guarantees  of 
Christian  civilisation.  We  are  doing  the  same  work  in  seeking 
to  drive  these  infidels  out  of  Europe.  Since  1672  we  have  been 
in  conflict  with  them,  and  shall  continue  till  we  force  them  back 
to  Asia.  Who  censured  France  for  driving  the  Turks  out  of 
Algiers  in  1830,  and  taking  possession  of  the  territory?  We 
can  hardly  expect,  when  we  succeed,  to  monopolise  all  Turkey 


Odessa  and  the  Crimea.  251 

in  Europe.     We  will  readily  share  it  with  the  Christian  States 
who  cooperate  with  us.' 

'  That  is  an  equitable  arrangement/  I  declared,  *  and  it  is  cer 
tainly  a  consummation  devoutly  to  be  wished.  I  consider  the 
occupation  of  any  portion  of  Europe  by  the  Turks  a  disgrace  to 
Christendom.  I  wonder  that  England,  with  a  view  to  her  trade, 
does  not  aid  you  in  this  holy  crusade  as  she  did  at  Navarino, 
and  supply  the  Danubian  Provinces  with  her  manufactures.' 

'  That  would  be  a  far  more  practical  policy,'  observed  the 
Prince, '  than  struggling  to  keep  the  Turk  in  Europe.  I  don't 
understand  her  statesmanship.  She  professes  that  the  safety  of 
her  Indian  possessions  depends  on  the  maintenance  of  the  effete 
Ottoman  Empire.  She  fancies  if  we  seized  upon  it  she  would  be 
endangered.  Then  let  her  cooperate  with  us  to  erect  an  inde 
pendent  Christian  State,  which  might  check  our  extension  in  that 
direction,  but  would  be  more  useful  to  her  than  the  rotten  fabric 
she  vainly  hopes  to  sustain.  If  she  fears  or  suspects  us,  why  not 
cultivate  amicable  relations  instead  of  courting  hostility  ?  We 
are  always  ready  to  settle  the  Eastern  Question  with  her,  and 
not  in  despite  of  her,  unless  she  drives  us  to  it.  As  to  India,  we 
do  not  dream  of  disturbing  her  there.  Why  does  she  strive,  then, 
to  impede  our  growth  if  her  interests  are  not  compromised  ?' 

1 1  know  too  little  of  English  policy/  I  replied, '  to  penetrate 
its  mysteries.  All  I  crave  is  the  redemption  of  Christian  Europe 
from  the  degrading  domination  of  the  Turk.  Your  Excellency 
adverted  just  now  to  the  outcry  raised  over  your  aggressions  on 
the  Turk,  but  a  louder  clamour  has  denounced  the  partition  of 
Poland/ 

'  One  is  not  more  rational  than  the  other/  said  the  Prince. 
*  Why  should  Russia  be  more  censured  for  this  event  than 
Prussia  and  Austria,  who  shared  in  it  ?  But  the  plain  truth  is, 
no  one  was  to  blame.  It  was  a  sheer  necessity.  Poland  was  a 
nuisance,  and  had  to  be  abated.  During  the  course  of  centuries 
she  was  always  engaged  in  foreign  or  civil  war.  She  invaded 
us  over  and  over  again.  She  could  never  live  at  peace  with  her 
neighbours  or  with  herself.  Anarchy  was  her  normal  condition 
from  the  defects  of  her  organisation.  Russia  upheld  her  last 
king,  Stanislaus  II.;  but  intestine  feuds,  as  always,  dethroned 
him,  till,  to  put  an  end  to  this  furnace  of  discord,  Austria, 
Prussia,  and  Russia  extinguished  it.  It  sounds  very  pretty  in 
poetry  to  say  that  "  Freedom  shrieked  whes  Kosciusko  fell" — 


252  Odessa  and  the  Crimea. 

which,  by  the  way,  he  did  not — yet  all  the  Kosciuskos  in  the 
world  would  never  have  made  an  orderly  well-conducted  State 
of  Poland.  Her  long  history  is  there  to  prove  it. 

1  Bless  me/  exclaimed  the  Prince,  consulting  his  watch  by  the 
light  of  the  binnacle, '  it  is  past  midnight !  You  must  be  fatigued 
with  this  long  talk,  and  I  regret  having  detained  you  such  a  time 
from  your  bed.' 

Assuring  his  Excellency  that  I  was  under  great  obligation 
for  the  varied  information  he  had  afforded  me,  I  bade  him 
'  Good-night,'  and  went  below.  He,  on  the  contrary,  ordered  a. 
mattress  to  be  stretched  on  deck  ;  and,  folding  his  cloak  about 
him,  took  his  rest,  soldier-like,  under  the  broad  canopy  above 
glittering  with  stars. 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

ODESSA  (continued], 

A   DINNER  WITH  THE  PRINCE  WORONZOW — THE  RUSSIAN  ARMY — A  MORNING  VISIT 
BANQUET  TO  THE  BRITISH  AMBASSADOR FORREST  HIMSELF  AGAIN. 

NEXT  morning  I  paid  a  visit  to  the  Prince,  who  was  seated  in 
his  salon,  listening  to  a  play  of  Shakespeare  read  to  him  by  one 
of  his  secretaries,  who  had,  I  understood,  translated  some  of  the 
works  of  the  divine  bard  into  Russian.  I  had  a  chat  with  the 
Prince  on  the  English  poets,  with  whose  masterpieces  he  was 
perfectly  familiar ;  and  then  I  went  on  deck  to  watch  our  approach 
to  Odessa,  which  looked  lovely  in  the  sunlight.  The  quay  was 
lined  with  troops,  and  General  Sontag  came  on  board  to  receive 
the  Prince.  He  was  greatly  pleased  to  hear  that  his  predictions 
had  been  fully  verified,  and  that  we  had  returned  enchanted  with 
our  Crimean  excursion.  Thanking  Prince  Woronzow  for  his 
gracious  hospitality,  we  awaited  his  departure,  and  then  drove 
off  to  our  hotel. 

My  return  to  Odessa  recalled  me  to  my  half-forgotten  pro 
jects  of  travel,  and  I  posted  off  to  our  consul,  M.  Ralli,  to  get 
the  latest  news  from  Constantinople.  It  was  lugubrious  to  the 
last  degree.  The  plague  was  running  riot,  and  carrying  off  its 
victims  in  great  numbers.  The  worst  sign  of  all  was  that  the 
Europeans,  who  took  every  possible  precaution,  were  prostrated, 
as  well  as  the  Turks,  whose  Mahometan  belief  in  fatality  made 
them  utterly  indifferent.  I  held  counsel  with  Forrest  whether  we 
should  *  put  on  manly  readiness/  and  face  the  fell  monster ;  but 
to  my  amusement,  I  found  that  my  friend's  zeal  to  push  on  at 
every  risk  was  much  abated.  He  thought  now  it  would  be  only 
prudent  to  abide  a  while  longer  in  Odessa.  I  divined  the  secret 
of  this  resolution.  He  had  become  so  deeply  interested  in  the 
fate  of  the  husband  of  the  Polish  Countess,  that  he  could  not 
bear  to  quit  Odessa  whilst  she  was  still  there.  What  advantage 
that  would  bring  the  luckless  conspirator  I  could  not  exactly  see ; 
but  as  I  desired  also  to  linger  in  this  charming  town,  I  fell  in 
cheerfully  with  his  proposition  of  delay.  I  soon  discovered  I  was 
quite  master  of  my  own  movements  ;  for  the  sympathetic  Forrest 


254  Odessa. 


was  off  every  day  to  condole  with  the  unhappy  Countess,  and 
talk  over  plans  for  the  emancipation  of  her  imprisoned  mate.  I 
often  wondered  whether  he  was  so  very  anxious  to  obtain  his 
freedom. 

Meanwhile  I  passed  my  time  most  pleasantly.  I  used  to  go 
daily  to  M.  Ralli's  office  and  read  the  news.  That  from  the 
United  States  was  not  very  exhilarating.  There  was  a  good  deal 
of '  lynching'  going  on  out  West.  Riots  had  occurred  in  Balti 
more.  The  house  of  Reverdy  Johnson  had  been  gutted,  and 
the  furniture  burnt  in  the  street,  because  a  bank  had  failed  of 
which  he  was  president.  I  doubted  if  such  mad  pranks  as  these 
were  likely  to  enhance  the  reputation  of  our  Republic  in  the  eyes 
of  foreign  nations. 

Shortly  after  our  return,  we  were  invited  to  dine  with  the 
Prince  Woronzow.  He  occupied  a  superb  palace,  whose  nu 
merous  suites  of  gilded  apartments,  picture-galleries,  and  conser 
vatories  were  hardly  inferior  to  the  imperial  abodes  I  had  seen 
at  St.  Petersburg.  The  guests  on  this  occasion  numbered  "some 
twenty  persons,  comprising  several  of  the  nobility,  and  a  sprink 
ling  of  generals,  who  abound  in  Russia.  The  Prince,  with  his 
usual  kindness,  placed  me  on  his  right,  and  kept  up  an  animated 
conversation  during  dinner.  The  more  I  saw  of  this  distinguished 
man,  the  more  I  was  impressed,  I  might  say  fascinated.  His 
rare  intelligence,  wide  knowledge,  moderate  views,  coupled  with 
his  energy  and  uprightness,  justified  the  great  influence  he 
wielded. 

After  dinner  I  was  presented  to  several  of  the  leading  nota 
bilities.  I  got  into  conversation  with  General  Sabloukoff,  a  good 
type  of  the  Russian  militaire — a  tall  robust  man,  with  short- 
cropped  hair  of  iron  gray,  a  moustache  and  imperial  to  match,  a 
brusque  manner,  and  blunt  mode  of  expression.  He  spoke  highly 
of  Mr.  Poinset,  our  former  Minister  in  Russia, whom  he  had  known. 
He  made  inquiries  of  our  system  of  slavery  in  the  Southern  States 
—whether  cotton-planting  could  be  successfully  carried  on  without 
it — whether  the  said  States  would  ever  consent  to  its  abolition— 
whether  free  blacks  would  work  as  well  as  slaves — whether  the 
sale  and  removal  of  the  slaves  from  one  plantation  to  another 
was  any  grievance.  In  turn,  I  asked  him  some  questions  about 
serfdom  in  Russia. 

*  You  know,'  he  said, c  our  serfs  cannot  be  separated  from  the 
land — adscripti  glebes — like  the  serfs  of  the  Middle  Ages  in 


Odessa.  255 


Europe.  They  are  only  sold  with  it.  They  have  a  portion  of 
land  to  cultivate  for  themselves.  But  three  days'  labour  a  week 
can  be  exacted  of  them.  For  more  continuous  work  stipulations 
must  be  made.  These  usages  are  of  long  date,  and  are  consi 
dered  as  rights.  They  are  consequently  never  overworked,  and 
are  a  contented  race.  There  is  a  movement  afoot,  however,  for  a 
modification  of  the  system,  which  will  probably  end  in  its  aboli 
tion.  I  do  not  think  they  will  be  any  better  for  the  change. 
Innovation,  however,  is  the  order  of  the  day,  and  it  is  hard  to 
resist  it.' 

I  asked  who  was  said  to  be  the  largest  owner  of  serfs  in 
Russia. 

'  That  I  could  hardly  tell.  It  depends  on  their  territorial 
possessions.  Our  host  of  to-night  is  supposed  to  be  the  lord  of 
some  sixty  thousand — quite  an  army.' 

*  Apropos  of  armies/  I  continued,  '  what  do  you  estimate  the 
strength  of  yours  ?' 

*  From  four  to  five  hundred  thousand  ;  but  it  could  be  doubled 
if  required.' 

'  In  the  way  of  discipline,'  I  inquired,  '  how  do  you  think  it 
compares  with  those  of  other  nations  ?' 

'  It  is  not  for  me  to  say  it  is  better/  he  replied  ;  '  but  I  am 
satisfied  it  is  not  inferior.  It  is  an  advantage  for  us  that  a 
Russian  soldier  is  more  of  a  machine  £han  a  man.  He  never 
thinks  ;  he  obeys  orders.  If  commanded  to  jump  out  of  a  win 
dow,  the  next  moment  he  is  in  the  street,  dead  or  alive,  as  the 
case  may  be.  That's  the  material  for  a  good  army.' 

'  And  I  suppose/  I  remarked,  '  the  same  is  true  of  the  officers, 
and  that,  from  the  Czar's  son  down  to  the  subaltern,  all  obey 
alike?' 

'  Yes  ;  obedience  is  the  law  in  Russia.     We  know  no  other.' 

'At  this  moment,  General,  I  consider  Russia  as  the  first 
military  nation  in  Europe,  both  as  to  numbers  and  efficiency. 
The  Emperor  is  said  to  be  a  soldier  from  top  to  toe,  and  thinks 
of  nothing  but  military  organisation.  If  he  contemplated  the 
conquest  of  Europe  he  could  scarcely  be  more  absorbed  in  drill.' 

'  What  he  contemplates/  was  the  reply,  '  is  no  affair  of  ours. 
When  he  commands,  we  march.' 

'  And  if  the  word  is/  I  said,  smiling, '  to  clear  the  window — ' 

'  We  jump/  replied  the  General,  cordially  shaking  hands,  as 
we  separated. 


256  Odessa. 


One  day  I  accompanied  Forrest  to  pay  a  visit  to  the  Countess 

S ,  whom  I  had  not  seen  since  our  return  from  Aloupka. 

She  was  now  in  better  spirits,  and  looked  all  the  handsomer.  I 
was  presented  to  the  hostess,  a  Russian  lady  of  fortune,  and  living1 
in  much  splendour.  She  was  a  stately  woman,  with  dark  hair 
and  eyes  of  uncommon  brilliancy.  After  some  pleasant  chat,  the 

Countess  said  her  friend  Madame  R was  a  proficient  on  the 

piano,  and  if  I  cared  for  music  I  might  select  what  school  I  liked, 
as  she  was  familiar  with  all.  I  announced  my  preference  for  the 

Italian ;  and  Madame  R ,  saying  her  taste  accorded  with  mine, 

sat  down  to  her  favourite  instrument  with  such  unaffected  readi 
ness  as  to  show  it  was  a  labour  of  love.  She  played  some  of  the 
choicest  morceatix  of  Rossini,  and  with  so  much  skill  and  expres 
sion  as  to  astonish  and  delight  me.  I  had  rarely  witnessed 
such  finished  execution  by  an  amateur.  Absorbed  by  the  music, 
it  was  some  time  before  I  observed  that  my  friend  had  wandered 
away  with  the  fair  Countess  into  one  of  the  adjoining  apartments, 
and  it  was  plain  that  the  dulcet  strains  of  the  divine  composer 
had  less  charm  for  them  than  soft  communion  over  the  unhappy 
plight  of  the  poor  prisoner  in  the  dungeons  of  Warsaw. 

I  thought  the  opportunity  a  good  one  to  ascertain  something 
of  the  plans  of  the  Countess,  and  whether  her  stay  in  Odessa  was 
likely  to  be  prolonged. 

'  O  no,'  answered  Madame  R .  '  The  moment  she  nears 

of  the  Emperor's  return  to  St.  Petersburg  she  will  hasten  thither/ 

*  Under  the  escort  of  her  brother  ?'  I  inquired. 

'  Of  course/  she  replied. 

'  I  daresay/  I  continued,  '  my  friend  will  be  very  sorry  to  part 
with  her,  as  he  seems  so  interested  in  her  husband's  misfortune.' 

Smiling  significantly,  she  remarked,  '  Why,  he  talks  of  accom 
panying  her  to  the  north,  as  going  to  plague-stricken  Constanti 
nople,  he  thinks,  would  be  sheer  insanity.' 

'  Indeed  !'   I  exclaimed,  quite  taken  aback. 

'  Yes,  indeed/  returned  the  lady,  laughing  at  the  upset  she 
had  given  me. 

I  was  lost  for  a  moment  in  reverie.  The  words  of  Othello 
occurred  to  me : 

1  This  honest  creature,  doubtless, 
Sees  and  knows  more,  much  more,  than  she  unfolds.' 

I  set  to  work,  therefore,  in  a  crafty  way  to  find  out  if  it  were 
really  probable  that  my  fellow-traveller  meant  to  desert  me  ; 


Odessa.  257 


and  I  began  by  extolling  the  fascination  of  her  friend  the  Coun 
tess,  which  she  responded  to  by  declaring  a  handsomer  man  than 
Forrest  she  had  never  met.  This  was  true  enough  ;  for  he  was 
then  only  twenty-nine,  and  in  all  respects  'framed  to  make  women 
false.'  With  my  utmost  finesse  I  could  learn  no  more  than  the  fair 
Russian  sphinx  had  chosen  to  reveal,  and  I  went  away  to  ponder 
over  the  new  situation. 

What  was  to  be  done  now  ?  Was  the  tragedian  really  fright 
ened  by  the  plague,  or  had  his  sympathies  for  a  victim  of  Russian 
tyranny  roused  his  democratic  ire  ?  or,  far  more  likely,  were  the 
blandishments  of  the  Countess  overpowering,  making  him  forget 
his  pledges  to  me  and  all  the  rest  ?  It  seemed  ludicrous  that  this 
skilful  delineator  of  human  passions  on  the  stage  should  now  be 
caught  in  their  toils  in  the  real  world.  But  what  course  should 
I  pursue  ?  To  insist  on  his  accompanying  me  to  Constantinople 
was  incurring  a  grave  responsibility.  What  would  his  legion  of 
admirers  say  if  he  were  carried  off  by  the  plague  ?  My  taking 
the  same  risk  would  be  derided.  What  was  a  common  mortal 
to  the  greatest  artist  of  the  day  ?  Moreover,  the  prospect  of 
crossing  the  Black  Sea  in  a  small  sailing-vessel,  with  the  chance 
of  being  knocked  about  for  a  week,  or  even  two,  was  dishearten 
ing.  I  began  to  think  it  was  better, on  the  whole,  to  renounce  my 
Oriental  schemes,  and  return  to  St.  Petersburg,  to  pass  the  win 
ter  as  attache to  the  Legation. 

In  this  unsettled  state  of  mind  I  returned  to  my  hotel,  and 
found  General  Sontag  waiting  for  me.  He  said  at  once  he  had 
called  to  give  me  a  bit  of  news,  and  thought  I  was  especially 
entitled  to  it. 

'  How  so  ?'  I  inquired. 

'  Do  you  remember  expressing  your  surprise  lately  to  the 
Prince  that  no  steam  line  existed  between  Odessa  and  Constan 
tinople,  when  there  were  so  many  reasons  for  the  closest  com 
munication  ?' 

'  Perfectly,'  I  answered. 

'Well,  it  has  borne  fruit.  His  Excellency,'  continued  the 
General,  'has  been  thinking  it  over,  and  ordered  me  two  or  three 
days  ago  to  buy  the  first  steamer  I  could  find,  and  despatch  her 
to  Constantinople  as  the  pioneer  of  a  line  he  means  to  establish 
as  soon  as  vessels  can  be  obtained.' 

'  Can  it  be  possible  ?'  I  exclaimed.  '  Would  that  the  order 
had  been  given  months  ago,  for  then  we  might  have  profited  by  it!' 

S 


258  Odessa. 


1  No  difficulty  on  that  point/  asserted  the  General ;  *  for  I 
found  an  English  steamer  in  our  port,  and  bargained  for  her. 
The  Russian  flag  now  flutters  over  her  stern,  and  next  week 
she  will  begin  the  service.  So  if  you  and  Forrest  want  state 
rooms,  you  shall  have  the  best/ 

This  unexpected  intelligence  quite  revolutionised  the  conclu 
sions  I  had  all  but  formed.  I  manifested  my  eager  desire  to 
embark,  but  told  the  General  of  my  fears  respecting  Forrest. 
He  was  amused  at  the  story,  and  promised  to  aid  in  the  recovery 
of  my  travelling  companion. 

'But  come/  he  said,  'jump  in  my  carriage.  My  wife  and 
Mary  expect  you  to  dinner,  when  we  shall  have  time  to  talk  it 
all  over/ 

I  returned  to  town  full  of  buoyancy,  and  resolved  to  have  a 
tussle  with  the  Polish  siren  for  the  possession  of  my  backsliding 
friend. 

Forrest  picked  up  his  hat  next  morning  after  breakfast,  to  run 
off  as  usual  to  the  Countess,  '  to  see  if  she  had  any  later  news 
from  Warsaw  /  but  I  demanded  the  first  seance,  to  talk  over  our 
plans.  I  knew  the  odds  were  against  me,  but  I  determined 
none  the  less  to  struggle  hard  for  the  fulfilment  of  our  original 
programme.  I  appealed  fervently  to  his  sense  of  honour,  remind 
ing  him  I  had  refused  Mr.  Wilkins's  seductive  offer  to  join  his 
Legation  rather  than  violate  my  plighted  word.  This  had  some 
effect,  but  the  wrangle  went  on. 

1  It  is  mere  folly/  said  he,  'to  brave  the  plague.' 

'  If  it  be  as  bad  as  reported/  I  continued,  '  we  can  push 
right  on  to  Smyrna.' 

'  But  worse  than  that/  persisted  the  wily  tragedian,  '  would 
be  loitering  about  the  Black  Sea  for  Heaven  knows  how 
long/ 

'  Happily  no  such  martyrdom  awaits  us.  A  steamer  starts 
next  week  that  will  land  us  in  forty-eight  hours/ 

'  What !'  thundered  the  astonished  Forrest. 

'Ask  the  General'  (who  most  opportunely  entered  at  that 
critical  moment)  ;  '  ask  him,  and  he  will  tell  you  he  has  secured 
our  places/ 

This  fortunate  reinforcement  decided  the  contest.  Our 
mutual  friend,  without  pretending  to  know  anything  of  Forrest's 
penchant,  said  so  much  in  favour  of  our  seizing  this  glorious 
opportunity  to  prosecute  our  travels  that  the  tragedian,  out- 


Odessa.  259 


manoeuvred  and  undermined,  gradually  gave  way,  till,  finally 
starting  to  his  feet,  he  said, 

*  So    be    it.      I   will    embark    on   Thursday,'    and     disap 
peared. 

*  Tell  the  ladies/  I  cried  out,  *  I  will  join  them  at  the  opera 
to-night/ 

General  Sontag  was  highly  diverted  at  the  scene,  but  I  felt 
no  small  compassion  for  my  entangled  friend. 

'  He  may  give  you  the  slip  yet,'  remarked  the  General. 

1  No  ;  he  is  "  ever  precise  in  promise-keeping,"  and  his  word 
is  as  good  as  his  bond.' 

That  night  there  was  a  gala  performance  at  the  Italian 
Opera,  in  honour  of  the  Earl  of  Durham,  who  had  been  in 
Odessa  several  days.  I  wended  my  way  to  the  box  of  Madame 

R ,  just  in  time  to  witness  the  entree  of  the  Prince  Woronzow 

with  the  British  Ambassador  and  their  respective  suites.  The 
English  National  Anthem  was  played,  and  the  whole  audience 
rose.  Bellini's  sweet  opera  of  Norma  was  admirably  given,  and 
its  love-lorn  story  seemed  to  absorb  the  Countess  and  her  swain. 
I  was  glad  to  know  that  my  friend  was  a  more  reliable  character 

than  the  faithless  Pollione.  Madame  R proposed,  after  the 

opera,  to  take  a  stroll  in  the  lovely  gardens  by  the  sea.  The 
moon  shone  brightly,  and  the  atmosphere  was  delicious.  I 
became  quite  gallant  under  their  joint  influence,  and  chatted 
gaily  with  my  fair  companion,  whilst  the  enamoured  pair  fol 
lowed  in  our  wake.  Once  I  overheard  Forrest  quoting  poetry, 
and  in  his  softest  accents : 

'  How  sweet  the  moonlight  sleeps  upon  this  bank  ! 
Here  will  we  sit,  and  let  the  sounds  of  music 
Creep  in  our  ears.' 

His  case  was  evidently  a  bad  one.  Suddenly  '  the  iron  tongue 
of  midnight'  sounded,  when  the  ladies  entered  their  carnage, 
and  left  us  to  our  meditations. 

The  day  before  our  departure  a  grand  banquet  was  given  by 
the  Prince  Woronzow  to  Lord  Durham.  As  the  occasion  was 
official,  the  guests  were  desired  to  come  in  uniform.  I  had  not 
brought  my  Court  costume,  and  Forrest,  though  a  colonel  for  the 
nonce,  was  unprovided  with  regimentals.  We  were  therefore 
ineligible.  But  General  Sontag  intervened,  and  insisted  on  our 
coming  in  simple  evening  dress.  My  friend,  however,  decided 
to  pass  the  evening — his  last  in  Odessa — more  to  his  fancy,  as  I 


260  Odessa. 


anticipated  ;    and  so  I   went  to  the  fete  accompanied    by  the 
American  Consul. 

All  the  State  apartments  were  thrown  open  and  blazed  with 
light.  Some  eighty  persons  of  distinction  were  assembled,  spark 
ling  with  embroidery  and  decorations.  The  banqueting-hall  was 
of  immense  size  and  great  splendour.  The  British  Ambassador 
sat  on  the  right  of  the  Prince,  both  in  rich  uniforms,  and  covered 
with  orders.  The  pallid  physiognomy  of  the  noble  lord  was  lit 
up  by  piercing  dark  eyes  of  singular  lustre.  He  seemed  of 
a  nervous  restless  temperament,  which  his  previous  history  indi 
cated.  Towards  the  close  of  the  dinner  the  Prince  proposed  the 
health  of  the  British  Ambassador.  The  company  at  once  rose, 
and  the  band  played  '  God  save  the  King.'  Lord  Durham  ac 
knowledged  the  compliment  in  a  short  speech  in  English,  and 
gave  'The  Czar.'  The  company  again  stood  up,  and  the  National 
Anthem  followed.  The  Prince  then  translated  into  Russian  the 
remarks  of  the  Ambassador  ;  whereon  all  adjourned  for  coffee 
through  the  various  saloons. 

I  had  merely  exchanged  salutations  with  the  Prince  on 
entering  the  palace,  and  he  desired  me  to  come  to  him  after 
dinner.  When,  accordingly,  I  approached  him,  he  said,  *  I  wish 
to  present  you  to  my  English  guest.  Follow  me.' 

Making  our  way  to  a  room  at  the  end  of  a  long  suite,  appar 
ently  reserved  for  the  more  conspicuous  personages,  we  found 
the  Ambassador  conversing  rather  stiffly  with  some  Russian 
generals.  I  was  introduced  as  '  an  American  gentleman  on  his 
travels.'  I  detected  in  Lord  Durham's  face  an  expression  of 
surprise  at  finding  a  Yankee  wandering  so  far  from  his  base 
The  Prince  left  us ;  and  whether  it  was  .his  satisfaction  at 
escaping  from  the  officials  around  him,  or  the  pleasure  of  speak 
ing  his  own  language,  certain  it  is  his  lordship's  manner  changed, 
and,  dropping  his  previous  lofty  bearing,  he  became  familiar  and 
chatty.  Hearing  I  had  just  accomplished  the  journey  from  St 
Petersburg,  he  began  making  inquiries  about  the  route,  and  then 
gradually  went  on  to  talk  of  Russia.  He  showed  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  her  organisation,  civil  and  military,  which  he  dis 
cussed  with  the  frankness  that  characterised  him. 

I  was  astonished  that  his  lordship  evinced  so  little  diplo 
matic  caution  in  talking  to  a  stranger  who  might  possibly  have 
been  in  close  relations  with  Russian  officials  ;  but  he  probably 
thought  that  an  American  would  scarcely  remember  opinions  on 


Odessa.  261 


topics  so  foreign  to  him,  and  that,  in  any  case,  he  might  repose 
confidence  in  my  discretion.  The  conversation  lasted  half  an 
hour ;  and  when  I  withdrew,  General  Sontag  led  me  into  one  of 
the  conservatories,  charmingly  illuminated,  and  displayed  a  lively 
curiosity  to  hear  what  his  lordship  had  been  saying  ;  '  for  it  was 
evident,'  remarked  the  General, '  he  was  much  interested  in  his 
subject,  or  he  would  not  have  talked  so  long  and  with  so  much 
warmth.'  I  evaded  the  pressing  queries  of  my  compatriot  with 
what  skill  I  could,  and  the  very  candid  declarations  of  Lord 
Durham  remained  locked  in  my  breast.  Perhaps  it  is  just  as 
well  they  did. 

I  went  up,  as  the  company  was  dispersing,  to  bid  my  illus 
trious  host  farewell,  and  expressed,  in  grateful  terms,  my  deep 
sense  of  all  his  kindness. 

*  Before  you  go,'  he  said, '  come,  look  at  a  painting  by  a  Rus 
sian  artist,  that  has  been  much  admired.' 

Leading  me  to  the  picture-gallery,  he  pointed  out  a  fine  work 
of  art,  representing  a  large  vessel  of  war  labouring  heavily  in  a 
furious  sea. 

'  I  was  with  the  Emperor,'  said  the  Prince, ' on  board  that 
ship,  coming  from  Varna,  and  for  some  hours  our  situation  was 
very  critical.' 

I  congratulated  him  on  his  happy  escape.  He  then  took  me 
cordially  by  the  hand,  and  said,  '  I  am  sorry  to  bid  you  adieu,  but 
hope  you  may  revisit  Odessa.' 

My  fellow-traveller  was  up  betimes  next  morning,  despatched 
his  packing,  and  hurried  away  to  bid  his  innamorata  once  more 
good-bye.  I  warned  him  not  to  fail  me,  that  the  steamer  was  to 
leave  punctually  at  noon.  Replying  laconically,  '  I  will  be 
there,'  he  vanished.  General  Sontag  called  to  accompany  me 
to  the  harbour.  I  felt  the  most  poignant  regret  at  parting 
with  this  estimable  man,  and  was  profuse  in  my  acknowledg 
ments  for  his  thousand  kind  attentions.  The  American  Consul 
also  came  to  see  us  off. 

It  was  five  minutes  to  twelve  o'clock,  and  no  Forrest  appeared. 
I  grew  nervous.  What  if  he  should  not  come  !  My  anxiety 
increased  every  instant.  When  only  two  minutes  intervened, 
the  General  cried,  '  I  see  him  ;'  and  in  the  distance  I  descried  a 
drosky  dashing  at  full  speed  towards  us.  A  hurried  farewell 
ensued  ;  we  rushed  on  board  as  the  gun  fired,  and  the  vessel 
moved.  My  disconsolate  friend  buried  himself  in  his  state-room, 


262  Odessa. 


not  caring  I  should  witness  his  emotion,  and  I  saw  no  more  of 
him  that  day.  I  gazed  earnestly  as  Odessa  faded  gradually 
from  view,  and  experienced  the  acutest  sorrow  at  the  thought  I 
should  never  likely  see  it  again.  I  felt  sure  I  should  never  for 
get  the  good  friends  and  flattering  civilities  associated  with  it. 

I  sat  for  hours  on  deck  recalling  the  many  agreeable  sou 
venirs  connected  with  my  trip  through  Russia.  The  retrospect 
teemed  with  pleasing  memories,  if  I  might  except  the  currency 
and  the  calendar,  which  from  first  to  last  involved  me  in  bewil 
derment.  The  Russian  money  was  issued  by  the  Government 
Bank  at  St.  Petersburg,  dating  from  1786.  The  kopek  was  at 
the  bottom  of  all  the  mischief — a  copper  coin  of  less  value  than 
our  cent.  One  hundred  kopeks  made  a  paper  rouble  of  about 
eighty  cents.  Then  followed  the  silver  rouble,  worth  some  ninety- 
two  cents.  Finally  the  gold  rouble,  varying  from  seventy-six  to 
over  a  hundred  cents.  All  these  fractions,  with  their  fluctuating 
rates,  soared  beyond  my  arithmetic,  and  left  me  at  the  mercy 
of  every  rogue  I  encountered. 

Another  maze  quite  as  intricate  was  the  Russian  mode  of 
reckoning  time.  Of  course,  I  had  never  known  but  that  exist 
ing  in  my  own  country,  and  in  Europe  generally,  called  the 
Gregorian  Calendar,  which  dates  from  a  Bull  of  Pope  Gregory, 
1582.  This  corrected  the  errors  of  the  previous  calendar,  decreed 
by  Julius  Caesar,  46  B.C.  England  did  not  adopt  the  new  style, 
or  Gregorian  Calendar,  till  George  II.'s  reign  in  1752  ;  but, 
luckily,  that  was  in  time  for  my  generation  ;  whereas  Russia 
chose  superciliously  to  adhere  to  the  old  style,  or  Julian  Calen 
dar,  making  a  difference  of  some  twelve  days  in  the  year.  Con 
sequently  I  was  for  ever  in  a  fog,  not  knowing  whether  I  was 
twelve  days  ahead  or  behind  time.  How  under  these  circum 
stances  I  managed  to  get  out  of  the  country  at  all  is  an  enigma. 
Saving  these  complications  with  reference  to  money  and  time, 
both  important  factors,  my  Russian  recollections  were  without 
alloy. 

When  I  came  up  next  morning  I  was  pleased  to  find  the 
water  smooth  and  the  weather  fair.  I  dreaded  different  treat 
ment,  for  amongst  mariners  this  mare  clausum  is  pronounced  the 
most  capricious  of  seas.  I  spied  my  friend  in  the  stern  of  the 
vessel,  apparently  engrossed  in  '  chewing  the  cud  of  sweet  and 
bitter  fancies/  I  was  anxious  to  dispel  his  sombre  rumin 
ations,  and  bring  him  back  to  his  better  self.  I  bethought  me  of 


Odessa.  263 


an  expedient  that  I  felt  sure  would  strike  a  familiar  chord.  So 
I  approached  him  with  a  quotation  from  the  bard  whom  he  held 
in  almost  sacred  reverence  : 

*  "Why  should  a  man  whose  blood  is  warm  within 
Sit  like  his  grandsire  cut  in  alabaster?"  ' 

I  had  scarcely  uttered  the  lines  when  he  turned  round  and  smiled 
pleasantly.  I  followed  up  my  success  with  another  arrow  from 
the  same  quiver  : 

'  "  Men  have  died  from  time  to  time,  and  worms  have  eaten  them,  but  not  for 
love." ' 

At  this  he  laughed  outright,  and,  getting  up,  said  with  strong 
emphasis,  '  Quite  true,  most  learned  Theban  !  I  must  throw  off 
this  "  green  and  yellow  melancholy,"  and  live  in  hope  of  some 
day  seeing  Warsaw  : 

"The  miserable  have  no  other  medicine 
But  only  hope." ' 

'  Bravo  ! '  I  exclaimed  ;  '  a  most  felicitous  citation  !  Now, 
let  us  go  down  to  breakfast.' 

We  had  the  steamer  nearly  to  ourselves.  There  were  only  a 
Russian  official  on  board,  connected  with  the  Embassy  at  Con 
stantinople,  and  his  wife.  They  never  once  appeared  on*  deck, 
so  Forrest  and  I  had  it  all  our  own  way.  We  walked,  talked, 
read,  and  diarised  to  our  hearts'  content.  Ever  and  anon  the  fit 
would  seize  him,  and  he  recurred  with  the  'passing  tribute  of 
a  sigh '  to  the  girl  he  had  left  behind  ;  but  I  assailed  him 
promptly  with  playful  strokes  of  raillery,  that  sobered  him,  if  it 
did  not  awaken  a  sense  of  perfidy  to  the  bright  eyes  dimmed  by 
his  departure  from  London. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

CONSTANTINOPLE. 

A  MIDNIGHT  REVERIE — THE  PLAGUE — HAREM  BEAUTIES  AT  THE  BAZAAR — VISIT 
TO  COMMODORE  PORTER — DIALOGUE  WITH  A  MISSIONARY. 

IT  was  near  dusk  of  our  second  day  out  that  we  approached 
the  Bosphorus.  I  contemplated  the  shores  of  Asia  with  breath 
less  interest.  This  vast  continent  was  populous  and  rich  when 
Europe  was  a  howling  wilderness.  Thoughts  of  its  exciting 
history  crowded  upon  me  as  we  ascended  the  river  to  our 
goal,  some  twenty  miles  distant.  I  stood  intently  gazing 
on  the  Asiatic  shore  of  the  Bosphorus,  totally  forgetting  I 
was  turning  my  back  on  Europe,  just  as  near  on  the  other 
side.  It  was  a  strange  experience  to  be  steaming  up  this 
famous  strait,  with  Asia  and  Europe  on  either  shore,  and  almost 
shaking  hands  at  the  nearest  point.  Already  the  continuous 
line  of  dwellings  on  both  banks  were  lit  up,  and  the  effect 
was,  perhaps,  more  picturesque  than  if  daylight  had  revealed 
the  ugly  as  well  as  the  beautiful.  By  degrees  the  panorama 
grew  more  varied  and  brilliant,  till  at  last  our  steamer  entered 
the  Golden  Horn,  or  harbour  of  Constantinople.  A  sight 
here  presented  itself,  the  most  striking  I  had  ever  witnessed. 
This  great  city,  rising  from  the  water's  edge,  spread  out  like  a  fan 
into  a  perfect  amphitheatre,  street  rising  above  street,  like  so 
many  tiers  of  benches,  each  distinct  with  its  separate  rows  of 
lights.  A  mass  of  domes  and  countless  spires  were  dimly  visible 
in  the  starlit  night,  whilst  the  clear  loud  voice  of  the  muezzin, 
calling  the  faithful  to  prayer,  rose  audibly  above  the  hum  and 
bustle  of  the  population.  Around  was  spread  out  a  dense  forest 
of  vessels,  whose  tall  masts  and  spars  could  be  traced  in  outline 
by  the  numberless  lanterns  hung  up  to  protect  them.  On  every 
side  the  placid  water  was  incessantly  ruffled  by  the  flight  of 
caiques  darting  to  and  fro  across  the  river.  The  spectacle  was 
novel,  enchanting,  and  I  gazed  from  right  to  left,  above,  beneath, 
silent  and  spellbound,  till  I  was  summoned  below  to  dinner.  I 


Constantinople,  265 


came  again  on  deck  about  ten  o'clock,  and  the  coup  dceil  had 
assumed  a  new  appearance.  The  twinkling  lights  in  most  of  the 
houses  had  been  extinguished,  for  the  Turks  keep  early  hours  ; 
but  the  moon  had  risen  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  effect  was  still 
more  bewitching. 

I  sat  down  alone,  and  gave  myself  up  to  reverie.  Could  it  be 
that  I  was  contemplating  the  site  of  ancient  Byzantium,  which 
was  successively  assailed  by  Persians,  Arabs,  and  Bulgarians  ; 
then  destroyed  by  Septimus  Severus  ;  then  rebuilt  and  raised  to 
its  greatest  splendour  by  Constantine,  who  not  only  gave  it  his 
name,  but  made  it  the  capital  of  the  vast  Roman  Empire?  A  still 
higher  glory  succeeded,  for  here  the  first  Christian  temple,  St. 
Sophia,  was  erected,  and  after  iioo  years  the  cross  which  sur 
mounted  it  was  struck  down,  and  the  emblem  of  the  infidel  now 
glittering  in  the  moonlight  took  its  place.  In  this  very  city  too 
occurred  the  tragedy  that  soiled  the  fame  of  the  first  Christian 
Emperor,  who,  believing  his  son  guilty  of  a  criminal  passion  for 
his  stepmother  Fausta,  condemned  him  to  death.  When  later 
he  discovered  the  accusation  had  sprung  from  the  rage  of  the 
perfidious  woman,  whose  advances  had  been  repulsed,  horror- 
stricken,  he  ordered  her  to  instant  execution.  Constantinople, 
too,  was  identified  with  the  glory  of  Justinian,  whose  reign  was 
signalised  by  the  celebrated  code  he  founded,  530  A.D.,  Cor 
pus  Juris  Cimlis  (the  body  of  the  civil  law),  which  to  this  day 
is  familiar  to  all  jurists.  Strange  that  this  eminent  prince  should 
have  espoused  a  Roman  danseuse,  Theodora,  whose  sway  over  his 
affections  was  absolute.  Here  also  was  accomplished  that  fierce 
schism  which  rent  the  authority  of  Rome  in  twain,  and  gave 
birth  to  the  Greek  Church,  which  denied  the  supremacy  of  the 
Pope  and  many  of  the  dogmas  of  the  Latin  creed.  At  last 
descended  upon  the  Eastern  capital  of  Christendom  the  bar 
barous  hordes  of  Asia,  1453  : 

'  The  Assyrian  came  down  like  the  wolf  on  the  fold, 
And  his  cohorts  were  gleaming  in  purple  and  gold.' 

Then  it  was  that  Mahomet  II.  unfurled  the  Turkish  banner 
in  Constantinople,  when  he  denounced  the  Christians  as  dogs, 
which  is  still  their  fate.  Since  that  proud  day  the  rule  of  the 
Ottomite  had  visibly  declined,  and  the  triumphs  of  Christian 
nations  over  the  successors  of  Mahomet  promised  at  no  distant 
day  the  return  of  the  Cross  to  Constantinople.  So  praying,  I 
broke  off  my  historical  musings,  and,  taking  a  final  survey  of  the 


266  Constantinople. 


renowned  city,  now  hushed  in  deep  repose,  I  went  below,  quite 
exhausted  by  the  emotions  of  the  day. 

What  a  change  came  o'er  the  spirit  of  my  dream  next  morn 
ing  !  My  enthusiasm  disappeared  at  the  reports  that  reached  us 
of  the  wide  prevalence  of  the  plague.  If  proofs  were  wanting,  they 
were  furnished  every  moment  by  the  numerous  caiques  that 
passed  our  steamer,  bearing  the  dead  to  their  last  home.  Lugu 
brious  as  the  sight  was,  I  could  hardly  avoid  being  amused  at  the 
stoical  business-like  indifference  the  Turks  displayed  in  escorting 
their  relatives  across  the  river  to  the  cemeteries.  In  the  bottom 
of  the  caique,  little  larger  than  an  Indian  canoe,  was  deposited 
the  coffin,  and  on  top  of  it  was  seated  a  cross-legged  Turk, 
placidly  smoking  his  pipe,  whilst  propelling  his  bark  onward. 
There  was  not  the  faintest  sign  of  sorrow.  His  belief  in  fate 
forbade  it.  The  dead  man's  time  had  come,  and  there  was  the 
end  of  it.  As  I  had  no  such  consolatory  creed,  I  debated  with 
Forrest  what  was  best  under  the  circumstances.  Should  we  go 
on  shore  and  take  the  risk,  or  safely  abide  on  board  till  we  could 
make  our  escape  from  the  pest-infected  town  ?  The  belief  was 
that  the  disease  was  contagious,  and  that  contact  with  any  one 
stricken  by  it  was  fatal.  It  seemed  absurd  to  come  to  Constanti 
nople,  and  run  away  without  seeing  it ;  so  we  determined  to  take 
our  chance.  We  were  told  that  all  but  Turks  wore  oilcloth 
cloaks  to  escape  the  dangers  of  contact,  and  we  sent  on  shore  to 
procure  them.  The  messenger  brought  only  one  back,  saying 
none  more  could  be  had.  This  looked  ominous.  Forrest  offered 
it  to  me,  but  I  refused  to  take  an  unfair  advantage  ;  and  we  started 
off  provided  with  sticks,  to  keep  the  Turks  at  a  respectful  distance, 
as  we  were  informed  they  were  fond  of  jostling  the  Franks,  in 
order  to  give  them  a  fright.  The  fact  is,  I  felt  no  apprehension 
whatever  from  mere  contact,  for  I  observed  that  what  was  in 
dispensable  for  daily  use,  as  chairs,  cushions,  and  pipes,  were 
pronounced  non-contagious,  whilst  nearly  everything  else  was. 
Hence  I  concluded  the  disease  was  infectious,  and  haunted  the 
atmosphere. 

I  had  not  advanced  a  hundred  yards  after  landing  before  dis 
covering  the  origin  of  the  plague.  The  streets  were  a  labyrinth 
of  narrow  crooked  lanes,  reeking  with  odour  from  every  variety  of 
filth.  The  houses  of  wood  were  small,  and  almost  piled  on  each 
other,  and  utterly  deprived  of  ventilation.  We  encountered  vast 
packs  of  famished  dogs,  that  were  the  only  scavengers.  They 


Constantinople.  267 


seemed  to  scent  Christian  blood,  and  we  found  our  sticks  useful 
in  keeping  them  at  bay. 

We  wandered  about  for  some  time  under  convoy,  and  met 
with  nothing  to  charm  the  eye.  All  was  mean,  squalid,  and 
repulsive.  There  were  but  few  people  in  the  thoroughfares  ;  foi 
your  Turk  is  not  given  to  pedestrian  feats,  but  delights  rather  in 
squatting  about  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  Only  once  a  facetious 
Moslem  gave  Forrest  a  rub,  expecting  to  see  him  retreat  in 
alarm  ;  but  in  return  he  administered  a  bump  that  sent  the  as 
tonished  infidel  spinning  across  the  street,  when,  after  a  look  of 
unutterable  disdain,  he  moved  quietly  off. 

We  passed  several  women,  whose  attire  was  more  curious 
than  ornamental.  Their  heads  and  faces  were  swathed  in  white 
linen,  leaving  only  their  eyes  and  noses  visible.  It  was  strictly 
forbidden  to  reveal  their  faces  to  the  gaze  of  the  profane.  The 
rest  of  their  persons  was  enveloped  in  loose  drapery,  without 
shape  or  style.  We  stared  at  them  with  all  our  might,  but 
extracted  scarce  a  glance  in  return.  The  penalties  for  any  kind 
of  communion  with  a  Christian  are  so  severe,  that  a  Turkish 
woman  dreads  even  to  bestow  a  look. 

We  stopped  at  a  shop  kept  by  a  Greek,  but  found  the  door 
barred  to  prevent  entrance,  and  our  money  was  passed  through 
water  before  it  might  be  touched.  We  then  went  in  quest  of 
lodgings  ;  but  the  vile  dens  we  inspected  filled  us  with  dismay, 
and  we  quickly  decided  to  accept  the  kind  offer  of  the  captain 
of  our  steamer  to  make  our  home  on  board  if  we  could  find  no 
other  accommodation.  We  returned  to  our  steamer,  rejoicing 
we  had  a  refuge  from  the  odious  sights  and  smells  of  the  town  ; 
and  my  illusions  of  the  previous  night  were  rudely  dispelled  by 
all  I  had  seen  during  my  excursion  on  shore.  It  was  very  evi 
dent  that,  if  Stamboul  was  to  be  admired,  it  could  only  be  done 
at  a  distance,  which  alone  lent  enchantment  to  the  view. 

In  the  afternoon  we  took  a  row  on  the  Bosphorus,  when, 
besides  fresh  air,  we  had  endless  pretty  views  of  the  villa-like 
residences  of  the  wealthy  Turks,  adorned  with  kiosks  and  foun 
tains  and  bright  verdure.  But  after  all,  the  only  charm  of  Con 
stantinople  is  its  site.  Sloping  gently  upwards  from  the  brink 
of  the  Golden  Horn,  it  offers  the  finest  situation  in  the  world 
for  the  structure  of  a  beautiful  city,  and  who  cannot  but  regret 
that  such  an  unrivalled  position  should  be  thrown  away  upon 
these  lazy  unprogressive  sons  of  Islam  ? 


268  Constantinople. 


It  was  amusing  in  the  morning  to  survey  the  large  barges- 
crossing  the  river,  crammed  full  of  women  and  their  black  gaolers, 
on  their  way  to  the  Bazaars,  their  chief  occupation  for  the  day. 
Another  object  of  curiosity  were  the  numerous  caiques  lying 
around  our  steamer  in  the  hope  of  hire.  These  tiny  barks  might 
be  considered  the  cabs  of  Constantinople,  for  they  were  con 
stantly  plying  across  the  river.  Their  owners  were  the  only 
class  in  the  whole  population  that  showed  any  disposition  to 
work  for  their  living.  The  rest  of  Turkeydom  impressed  me  as 
the  most  inert  mass  of  humanity  that  existed.  I  never  looked 
down  on  the  turbaned  wherrymen  hanging  about  us  but  half  of 
them  were  diligently  engaged  in  sponging  over  every  spot  of 
their  scollop-shells  ;  and  when  the  task  was  completed  to  their 
satisfaction,  down  they  sat  in  the  bottom  of  the  boat,  lit  their 
pipes,  and,  without  a  look  or  sign  that  betokened  the  least  in 
terest  in  the  world  here,  or  hereafter,  they  calmly  awaited  till 
the  Prophet  sent  them  a  customer. 

We  rowed  off  one  morning  in  the  wake  of  the  numerous 
barges,  with  their  muffled  freight,  wending  their  way  to  the  great 
Bazaar.  It  was  a  huge  ungainly  structure,  covering  many  acres,. 
dimly  lit  by  skylights,  and  divided  into  narrow  lanes,  with  an  in 
terminable  row  of  counters  on  either  side,  in  the  rear  of  which,, 
on  a  few  shelves,  were  arrayed  the  goods  on  sale.  Each  class  of 
article  had  its  separate  alley.  Shawls  of  infinite  variety  were 
found  in  one ;  laces,  embroidered  handkerchiefs,  slippers,  arms,, 
pipes,  in  the  others.  Nothing  interested  me  more  than  the  still 
ness,  not  to  say  solemnity,  that  pervaded  the  place.  In  any 
other  country,  above  all  in  France,  the  din  would  have  been, 
deafening.  The  shopkeepers,  with  their  snow-white  turbans, 
long  beards,  and  inevitable  pipes,  sat  cross-legged  on  their 
counters.  They  more  resembled  statues  than  men,  so  motion 
less  was  their  posture.  A  passer-by  might  stop  at  a  counter, 
scrutinise  or  touch  everything  within  his  reach,  and  the  grim 
vendor  sat  quite  unconcerned,  not  deigning  to  bestow  a  glance,, 
nor  diverted  for  a  moment  from  his  pipe  and  tranquil  rumina 
tions.  He  was  convinced  that,  if  the  Prophet  so  ordained,  he 
would  buy  ;  if  not,  why  lose  a  whiff?  Not  the  least  curious 
among  the  sights  were  the  number  of  devout  Turks  engaged  in 
prayer.  Every  good  Mussulman  is  required  to  pray  five  times 
a  day  ;  and  if  the  enemy  was  at  the  gates,  or  an  earthquake  ex 
pected,  he  would  scrupulously  fulfil  his  religious  duties.  When 


Constantinople.  269 


the  hour  arrived,  he  would  lay  down  his  pipe,  undo  his  legs,  fall 
on  his  knees,  with  his  face  to  the  east,  and,  raising  his  hands  to 
his  breast,  give  himself  up  to  spiritual  converse  with  Allah.  The 
observance  over,  he  would  recross  his  legs,  relight  his  pipe,  and 
resume  his  former  impassibility.  An  odd  set  these  Turks,  it 
must  be  confessed,  but  in  their  way  they  live  in  the  odour  of 
sanctity. 

I  was  tempted  to  think  that  all  the  harems  of  Constantinople 
had  emptied  their  be-muslined  contents  into  this  favourite  em 
porium,  so  great  was  the  multitude  of  women.  In  its  contracted 
passages  it  was  impossible  to  avoid  contact,  and  I  made  no  effort 
to  escape  the  soft  pressure  of  these  poor  creatures,  for  whom  I 
felt  the  profoundest  sympathy.  Disguised  as  they  were,  it  was 
hopeless  to  investigate  their  claims  to  beauty.  All  that  was 
visible  were  the  eyes  and  nose  ;  and  the  former  feature,  with 
their  long  silken  lashes,  were  almost  invariably  magnificent,  yet 
singularly  devoid  of  expression.  How  could  it  be  otherwise? 
There  was  nothing  in  their  lives  to  arouse  their  dormant  natures. 
Bought  in  the  market  like  sheep,  they  were  consigned  to  the 
harem,  to  drag  out  a  purely  animal  existence.  It  was  to  me 
revolting  that  women,  and  some  of  them  the  fairest  of  their  kind, 
should  be  degraded  to  a  level  that  rendered  the  lot  of  an  African 
slave  enviable.  These  unfortunate  beings  seemed  only  born  to 
pander  to  the  lust  of  the  brutes  that  owned  them.  Without  amuse 
ment,  save  the  trivial  pastimes  accorded  to  children,  without 
society  other  than  their  own,  their  minds  a  blank,  their  hearts  a 
void,  they  wander  from  the  cradle  to  the  grave  ignorant  of  human 
affections,  unconscious  of  friendship,  dead  to  love — that  pure  love 
the  poet  apostrophises  : 

'  It  is  the  secret  sympathy, 
The  silver  link,  the  silken  tie, 
Which  heart  to  heart  and  mind  to  mind 
In  body  and  in  soul  can  bind.' 

What  a  fate  !  It  seemed  to  me  incomprehensible  that  Christen 
dom  could  tolerate  a  social  organisation  that  reduced  women  to 
a  condition  simply  bestial.  Great  commiseration  was  bestowed 
on  the  destiny  of  our  negro  slaves,  who  were  bought  and  sold. 
But  the  lovely  denizens  of  Turkey  were  also  bought  and  sold, 
and  for  something  worse  than  the  needs  of  healthy  labour.  It 
was  with  such  impressions  I  turned  away  from  the  great  Bazaar, 
and  I  could  not  help  wishing  that  the  plague  would  not  quit 


2  jo  Constantinople. 


Constantinople  without  taking  every  Turk  with  it,  at  least  all 
who  kept  harems. 

We  had  seen  and  smelt  all  that  was  curious  and  odorous 
in  Stamboul  ;  but  ere  quitting  it  we  decided  to  hunt  up  our 
Minister,  who  was  living  some  ten  miles  from  the  city,  at  a 
village  called  San  Stefano.  How  to  get  there  was  a  puzzle. 
We  could  procure  no  guide  for  love  or  money.  Travellers  were 
too  few  in  these  regions  to  beget  such  a  class.  In  the  midst  of 
our  perplexity  our  banker  called,  and  he  suggested  our  taking  a 
caiqrie  to  a  certain  point  on  the  river,  and  there  obtain  horses  to 
carry  us  to  our  destination.  He  directed  our  caikjees  to  hire 
horses,  and  bid  their  owner  pilot  us  to  the  Minister's  residence. 
Trusting  to  chance,  we  started,  more  amused  than  alarmed  at 
what  might  befall  us  if  we  missed  our  aim.  After  an  hour's  pull 
we  landed  at  a  small  hamlet,  and  our  boatmen  went  off  in  quest 
of  horses.  They  returned  with  a  couple  of  stout  nags,  accom 
panied  by  a  gray-bearded  Mussulman  to  escort  us.  I  extended 
my  hand  with  some  silver  pieces  to  our  navigators,  who  gravely 
selected  their  fare,  a  very  modest  sum,  and  turned  on  their 
heel.  The  Turks  are  scrupulously  honest,  and  here  was  a  proof ; 
for  if  they  had  taken  ten  times  their  due,  I  should  have  been 
none  the  wiser  or  the  worse. 

For  a  time  we  wound  round  the  immense  walls  of  the  capital, 
with  their  picturesque  towers  to  the  number  of  250.  We  passed 
a  cemetery  seemingly  of  miles  in  extent,  adorned  with  the  melan 
choly  cypress.  The  wind  whistling  through  the  thick  branches 
sounded  like  a  soft  dirge,  in  unison  with  the  place.  We  then 
struck  across  the  country,  which  had  a  most  desolate  look.  Of  all 
the  uncomfortable  things  in  the  world  is  a  Turkish  saddle.  It 
Vas  as  much  as  I  could  do  to  keep  my  seat,  and  I  was  thinking 
of  trying  my  luck  bare-back,  when,  just  after  dark,  we  galloped 
into  a  small  town,  and  stopped  before  an  imposing  gateway 
brightly  lit  up.  We  gladly  dismounted  and  entered.  To  my 
surprise,  the  janitor  took  my  arm  and  led  me  to  what  looked 
like  a  sentry-box.  Opening  the  door,  he  motioned  me  to  enter. 
Thinking  it  was  some  custom  of  the  country,  I  complied  ;  but 
was  surprised  to  find  the  door  closed  and  locked.  Whilst  won 
dering  what  it  all  meant,  I  was  suddenly  enveloped  in  thick 
smoke,  and,  to  escape  suffocation,  I  put  my  nose  to  a  small  ori 
fice,  through  which  the  light  without  was  streaming.  Forrest 
was  served  in  the  same  way,  and  shut  up  in  a  box  on  the  oppo- 


Constantinople.  27 


site  side.  Between  us  both  we  made  such  a  rumpus,  that  in  a 
few  minutes  we  were  let  out,  and  the  language  we  jointly  ad 
dressed  the  '  base  Phrygian  Turk,'  who  had  literally  '  done  us 
brown,'  was  neither  polite  nor  classic.  By  this  time  a  third  per 
son  appeared  on  the  scene,  in  the  shape  of  a  stalwart  young 
man,  and,  hearing  our  unmistakable  English,  he  announced 
himself  as  the  nephew  of  the  U.S.  Minister,  and  courteously  in 
quired  our  business.  Finding  we  were  innocent  Americans, 
with  letters  for  his  uncle,  he  could  not  restrain  his  merriment 
at  the  mishap  that  had  stirred  up  our  bile ;  but  explained  that 
all  persons  coming  from  Constantinople  during  the  plague 
were  invariably  fumigated  before  entering  the  house.  On  learn 
ing  that  it  was  the  usual  thing  to  treat  visitors  like  herrings,  and 
smoke  them  beforehand,  our  indignation  vanished  into  laughter 
at  the  absurdity  of  our  adventure. 

On  entering  the  drawing-room  we  were  warmly  welcomed  by 
our  illustrious  Envoy,  Commodore  Porter,  whose  famous  exploits 
in  the  war  of  1812  had  endeared  him  to  all  his  countrymen.  He 
expressed  regret  at  the  ordeal  we  had  just  undergone,  but,  seeing 
we  had  recovered  our  serenity,  he  could  not  forbear  smiling  at 
what  must  have  seemed  to  us  a  practical  joke  of  a  very  novel 
character.  After  a  pleasant  chat  we  sat  down  to  an  excellent 
dinner.  Mrs.  Brown,  the  Commodore's  sister,  joined  us  at  table. 

It  was  very  delightful,  after  a  lapse  of  months,  to  find  myself 
again,  as  it  were,  on  American  soil,  surrounded  by  a  group  of 
fellow-countrymen.  It  was  even  a  greater  pleasure  to  be  the 
guest  of  so  distinguished  a  person  as  Commodore  Porter.  I 
could  hardly  believe  that  the  quiet  amiable  man  before  me,  so 
chatty  and  playful,  was  no  other  than  the  daring  seaman  who 
captured,  after  an  action  of  eight  minutes,  the  British  vessel  the 
*  Alert,'  which  surrendered  with  seven  feet  of  water  in  her  hold. 
A  dozen  other  exploits,  equally  attesting  the  most  desperate 
valour,  occurred  to  me  in  succession,  as  I  sat  contemplating  his 
placid  countenance  ;  but,  in  spite  of  its  winning  expression,  there 
were  indications  enough  of  fearlessness  in  his  eye  and  firm 
mouth  to  make  him  an  unwelcome  foe,  when  on  his  quarter 
deck,  with  the  drum  beating  to  quarters. 

After  a  sound  night's  sleep,  I  strolled  in  the  early  morn 
about  the  Commodore's  pretty  grounds,  enjoying  both  the  bright 
sunshine  and  the  delicious  green  figs  growing  all  round.  Look 
ing  up,  I  descried  the  star-spangled  banner  waving  from  the 


272  Constantinople. 


house-top.     The  thrill  it  gave  me  proved  that  my  patriotism  was 
still  glowing.     I  repeated  Scott's  beautiful  lines  : 

'Breathes  there  a  man  with  soul  so  dead, 
Who  never  to  himself  hath  said, 
"  This  is  my  own,  my  native  flagl" ' 

I  mentioned  to  the  Commodore  at  breakfast  my  emotion  at 
sight  of  our  standard. 

'  I  ordered  it  to  be  raised,'  he  replied,  '  in  honour  of  my 
visitors.  I  thought  it  would  give  you  a  sensation/ 

'  It  is  a  queer  place/  said  I, '  to  see  the  Stars  and  Stripes  fly 
ing.' 

*  Yes,  indeed  it  is,'  he  remarked  ;  'and  it  is  just  a§  well  the 
poor  devils  hereabouts  don't  know  the  story  it  tells.' 

'  Will  you  allow  me,  Commodore,'  I  continued,  *  to  express 
my  wonder  that  an  active  spirit  like  yours  can  tolerate  a  resi 
dence  in  such  a  country  as  this,  where  all  is  barren,  where  life 
is  stripped  of  every  charm,  and  where  existence  must  be  mono 
tonous  to  the  last  degree  ?  Yet  there  is  so  much  besides  that  is 
odious.  The  religion  which  denounces  Christianity  ;  the  degra 
dation  of  women  ;  the  enslavement  of  men  ;  the  caprice  of  a 
despot  the  only  law  ;  the  absence  of  the  comforts  and  the  re 
finements  of  our  century, — all  these  would  make  an  abode  in 
this  land,  I  should  think,  worse  than  a  prison  in  our  own.' 

'  The  monotony  you  speak  of,'  observed  the  Commodore,  '  is 
nothing  to  me,  after  spending  the  most  of  my  life  on  shipboard. 
As  regards  the  condition  of  things  in  Turkey,  I  am  less  vividly 
impressed  than  you,  accustomed  only  to  one  phase  of  life. 
Having  visited  many  countries,  whose  institutions  and  customs 
differ  widely  from  my  own,  I  have  fallen  into  a  somewhat  callous 
state  over  the  eccentricities  of  mankind.  An  old  tar  settles 
down,  sooner  or  later,  into  a  practical  philosopher,  and  learns  to 
contemplate  the  varieties  of  race,  the  difference  of  creeds,  and 
the  contrasts  in  usage  with  curiosity,  perhaps,  but  without 
wonder  or  emotion.' 

'  I  comprehend,  Commodore,  the  effect  which  larger  experi 
ence  and  riper  years  would  doubtless  produce  ;  but  with  my 
present  eyes  I  cannot  help  expressing  all  the  aversion  I  feel  at 
the  state  of  things  about  me.' 

'  There  is  no  reason  in  the  world  you  should  not,'  returned 
the  veteran,  in  a  tone  of  the  utmost  toleration.  '  But  the  day  is 
too  fine  to  waste  upon  the  Turks.  Let  us  turn  out  for  a  cruise 


Constantinople.  273 


In  the  neighbourhood.     There  are  some  objects  that  will  possibly 
interest  you  and  Forrest' 

I  joyfully  sallied  forth  under  the  convoy  of  the  Commodore, 
and  he  led  us  to  see  an  old  Greek  church,  which  dated  from 
the  days  when  a  Christian  emperor  reigned  in  Constantinople. 
There  was  nothing  but  its  great  antiquity  to  attract  us,  and  after 
looking  it  over  the  Commodore  proposed  we  should  visit  a 
palace  of  the  Sultan  in  the  outskirts,  which  he  occupied  when 
he  came  here  to  shoot,  a  pastime  he  was  partial  to. 

As  we  loitered  carelessly  along  I  observed,  dogging  our  steps, 
a  girl  of  about  fifteen.  As  she  was  a  Greek  and  a  Christian, 
her  face  was  not  swathed  in  the  usual  muslin  bandage  of  the 
Turkish  women.  It  would  have  been  a  thousand  pities  if  such 
rare  beauty  had  been  hidden.  She  was  of  the  lower  class,  and 
her  curiosity  had  evidently  been  aroused  by  a  group  of  Franks 
in  their  strange  costume  invading  this  retired  spot,  where  naught 
was  ever  seen  but  the  wide  trousers,  long  beards,  and  ample 
turbans  of  the  Turks.  Wholly  unconscious  of  any  impropriety, 
she  followed  pertinaciously,  and  Jier  gaze  never  left  us  for  a 
moment.  The  Commodore's  nephew,  seeing  that  our  attention 
was  drawn  to  this  alluring  young  creature,  beckoned  her  to 
approach,  and  asked  her  some  trivial  questions  in  Turkish, 
which  afforded  us  an  opportunity  to  contemplate  her  charms. 
Her  features  were  of  the  strict  Grecian  type,  her  complexion 
clear,  with  cheeks  of  vermilion,  and  her  eyes  large,  dark,  and 
beaming.  She  wore  a  Greek  jacket  of  the  simplest  material, 
and  short  skirts,  revealing  her  perfectly-formed  limbs  and  small 
feet.  The  Turks  must  have  eyed  her  wistfully,  and  regretted 
she  was  not  a  disciple  of  the  Prophet.  She  advanced  towards 
us  without  the  least  hesitation,  though  plainly  curious  as  to  our 
motives.  She  replied  to  Mr.  Porters  inquiries  with  the  frank 
ness  of  a  child,  and  each  of  us  tendered  her  a  small  piece  of 
money,  not  exceeding  a  dollar  in  all.  Such  wealth  had  never 
been  hers  before  ;  a  million  would  not  have  caused  greater 
emotion.  Her  face  flushed  to  the  temples,  her  lustrous  eyes 
dilated  ;  uttering  a  wild  shriek  of  delight,  she  turned  and  ran 
with  the  fleetness  of  a  deer  to  her  mother's  hovel,  to  exhibit 
her  untold  treasure. 

Amused  at  the  incident,  we  continued  our  walk  to  the  palace. 
Like  all  those  we  had  seen,  it  was  built  of  wood,  painted  in 
colours,  and  of  moderate  size,  with  no  pretensions  to  architectural 

T 


274  Constantinople. 


effect.  On  entering  a  hall  we  were  accommodated  with  chairs 
instead  of  cushions,  a  recent  innovation  of  the  Sultan's,  which 
caused  the  Turks  to  groan  over  his  degenerate  fancies,  and  shake 
their  heads  in  apprehension  of  the  fate  of  Islam.  The  usual 
observances  of  Turkish  hospitality  then  followed.  Pipes  of  some 
two  yards  in  length,  with  the  bowl  resting  in  a  brass  saucer  on 
the  floor,  were  handed  to  each  of  us.  A  glass  dish  of  preserved 
rose-leaves  was  then  passed  round,  each  taking  a  mouthful,  the 
same  spoon  serving  for  all.  This  was  succeeded  by  a  cup,  or 
rather  thimbleful,  of  coffee,  which,  in  consistency  and  colour,  re 
sembled  very  black  mire,  though  the  flavour  was  exquisite.  This 
was  the  usual  entertainment  offered  to  all  strangers  entering  a 
Turkish  house,  and  to  refuse  any  part  of  it  would  be  regarded 
an  insult.  After  disposing  of  the  pipes,  -the  rose-leaves,  and 
the  coffee,  we  got  up,  placed  our  hands  on  the  breast,  the 
Turkish  mode  of  acknowledging  courtesy,  and  then  set  to  work 
inspecting  the  palace. 

It  consisted  of  a  series  of  rooms  well  proportioned,  and 
lighted  by  numerous  windows:  The  walls  were  painted  in  drab ; 
straw  matting  covered  the  floors,  and  each  room  was  skirted 
with  ottomans.  Strips  of  coloured  calico  served  in  lieu  of 
doors.  There  was  no  adornment  of  any  kind — no  pictures  or 
statuary  ;  no  silks,  satins,  or  velvets  in  curtains  or  furniture. 
Could  this  be  the  residence  of  an  Eastern  potentate  ?  Grant 
that  it  was  only  a  shooting-box,  still  some  indication  of  royal 
luxury  might  have  been  expected.  My  visions  of  Oriental 
splendour  had  already  received  some  rude  shocks,  but  this  exhi 
bition  scattered  what  illusions  still  survived.  Those  who  indulge 
in  dreams  of  Eastern  magnificence  would  discover  on  inspection 
that  all  the  pretty  stories  on  the  subject,  the  Arabian  Nights 
included,  were  the  merest  fables. 

As  we  returned  homewards,  we  met  in  the  street  a  friend  of 
the  Commodore's,  a  Mr.  Goodell,  an  American  missionary  in 
Turkey,  and  he  joined  our  party.  I  found  him  very  intelligent 
and  chatty.  He  had  lived  some  time  in  these  parts,  and  was  a 
careful  observer  of  men  and  things.  On  arriving  at  the  house, 
the  Commodore,  his  nephew,  and  Forrest  entered,  whilst  I  pro 
posed  continuing  my  promenade  with  Mr.  Goodell.  After  a  time 
we  adjourned  to  a  sort  of  cafe*,  and  were  supplied  with  more 
muddy  coffee,  and  pipes  called  narghile's.  The  smoke  is  inhaled 
after  passing  through  perfumed  water,  and  this  process  renders 


Constantinople.  275 


the  mild  Syrian  tobacco  still  more  pleasant.  I  was  eager  for  a 
conversation  with  my  new  acquaintance,  as  I  felt  sure  of  picking 
up  interesting  information  from  a  sagacious  American  not  afraid 
to  express  his  opinions.  I  began  by  asking  him  if  his  missionary 
labours  had  been  attended  with  any  satisfactory  results. 

'  I  cannot  boast/  he  said, '  of  much  progress  in  spreading  the 
truths  of  the  Gospel  among  these  heathen.  They  are  fanati 
cally  wedded  to  their  religion,  which  sanctions  the  vices  and 
customs  which  have  prevailed  in  the  East  from  time  immemo 
rial.  If  I  were  to  assail  polygamy  or  slavery,  it  would  be  re 
garded  as  an  outrage  on  their  sacred  book,  the  Koran,  which 
approves  of  both.  If  I  insisted  that  they  must  be  saved  by  their 
works,  they  would  point  to  the  doctrine  of  predestination  taught 
by  the  Koran,  and  the  assurance  of  paradise  with  its  black-eyed 
houris  to  all  believers.' 

*  It  would  be  up-hill  work,  indeed,'  I  remarked, '  to  combat 
this  blissful  creed  of  a  sensual  people,  by  recommending  the 
tenets  of  our  religion,  which  so  emphatically  denounces  it.  Under 
these  circumstances,  I  should  think  your  task  here  must  be  very 
unsatisfactory.' 

'  Not  by  any  means,'  he  returned.  '  There  is  work  enough 
for  a  conscientious  disciple  of  Christ.  I  teach  them  to  read  and 
write,  and  thus  can  supply  books  which,  without  attacking  their 
faith  openly,  will  indirectly  awaken  doubt  and  inquiry.' 

'  But  have  you  no  fear  of  arousing  the  anger  of  the  Mufti, 
who  might  call  for  your  expulsion,  if  not  worse  ?' 

'  No  ;  under  this  reign  there  is  nothing  to  apprehend.  The 
Sultan's  mania  is  to  introduce  European  civilisation,  in  the  hope 
of  regenerating  his  empire.  He  is  therefore  favourable  to  edu 
cation.' 

'  His  notion  strikes  me  as  absurd  ;  for  how  can  our  civilisa 
tion,  founded  on  Christianity,  be  reconciled  with  the  Turkish 
system,  based  on  the  Koran  ?  As  well  attempt  to  harmonise  fire 
and  water.' 

'You  are  quite  right ;  but,  meanwhile,  I  can  profit  by  the  tolera 
tion  allowed,  and  I  am  sowing  seed  that  I  hope  will  bear  good  fruit/ 

'  Pray  tell  me,'  I  asked, '  what  you  think  of  the  Sultan  Mah- 
moud.  He  is  clearly  a  man  of  resolute  character  and  great 
courage.  His  massacre  of  the  Janissaries  is  a  proof  of  that, 
though  I  think  his  destruction  of  those  unfortunate  troops,  the 
elite  of  his  army,  was  a  savage  act,  if  not  impolitic  as  well.' 


276  Constantinople. 


1  Without  justifying  such  a  terrible  deed,'  said  Mr.  Goodell, 
'  it  was  plainly  Mahmoud's  conviction  he  must  abandon  his  plans 
of  reform,  or  get  rid  of  the  Janissaries.  He  remembered  that 
his  brother  and  predecessor,  Mustapha  IV.,  was  strangled  by 
this  fierce  legion  for  venturing  to  contest  their  domination  ; 
whilst  his  cousin,  Selim  III.,  was  overthrown  for  only  dreaming 
of  reform.' 

'  True  enough,'  I  replied  ;  '  and  he  probably  recalled  that 
from  1512  the  Janissaries  had  been  the  veritable  masters  of  the 
empire.  Since  that  date  they  had  murdered  no  less  than  seven 
sultans,  besides  those  you  have  mentioned.  Mahmoud  was 
doubtless  stimulated,  by  the  example  of  Peter  the  Great,  who 
destroyed  the  rebellious  Strelitz  ;  but  it  was  a  bolder  act  to 
assail  the  Janissaries,  who  were  ten  times  more  numerous.  Do 
you  know  how  many  perished  ?' 

'  No  one  knew  the  exact  number,  but  in  a  single  day,  in 
June  1826,  15,000  were  immolated  on  the  square  of  the  Atmeidan 
at  Constantinople/ 

'  How  was  such  a  fearful  slaughter  effected  ?' 

*  The  Janissaries  occupied  extensive  barracks  on  that  square, 
which  were  set  on  fire  at  daybreak.      To   escape   the  confla 
gration  they  rushed  out  unarmed,  and  were  mowed  down  by 
batteries  of  cannon    collected    there  during  the  night.     Thou 
sands  more  were   killed  or  put  to  flight  in  other  parts  of  the 
empire.     Poor  wretches  !  they  little  dreamt  of  such  a  fate  at  the 
hands  of  a  man  they  raised  to  the  throne.' 

*  Since  then,'  I  queried,  'Mahmoud  must  have  been  absolute 
master  of  the  situation  ?     I  trust  he  has  been  more  fortunate  in 
his  domestic  reforms  than  in  his  foreign  policy.     Ever  since  his 
accession,  in  1 809,  he  has  met  defeat  from  every  foe  encountered. 
The  Russians  have  taken  large  slices  of  his  territory  in  Europe 
and  Asia ;   the   Greeks,  with  foreign  aid,  have  thrown  off  his 
yoke ;  he  has  lost  the  Ionian  Islands  and  Algiers.     Finally,  he 
was  compelled  to  appeal  to  Russia  to  escape  being  overthrown 
by  the    Pasha  of  Egypt,  Mehemet  AH.      I  don't  wonder  the 
Turks  believe  their  doom  is  sealed.' 

*  Yes,'  returned  Mr.  Goodell,  'that  is  the  prevailing  impression 
amongst  them,  and  I  fear  the  Sultan  has  essayed  a  task  far 
beyond  his  strength.' 

'  Just  my  conviction,'  I  rejoined.  '  Has  he  any  capacity  for 
the  administrative  revolution  he  is  said  to  contemplate  f 


Constantinople.  277 


'  I  see  little  sign  of  it  yet/  replied  Mr.  Goodell.  '  He  has 
thrown  aside  the  Turkish  costume,  dressed  his  army  in  the 
French  uniform,  and  inaugurated  the  European  drill.  He 
encourages  Europeans  to  come  and  establish  their  institutions, 
to  set  up  libraries,  schools  of  science  and  medicine,  and  I  know 
not  what.  If  he  were  to  import  a  European  population  as  well, 
and  send  the  Turks  into  Asia,  he  might  make  Constantinople  a 
model  city ;  but  as  long  as  it  is  occupied  by  the  Mussulman 
these  European  novelties  are  simply  exotics,  not  likely  to  flourish 
in  an  intractable  soil.  But,  as  I  said  before,  his  whims  are 
favourable  to  us  missionaries,  and  I  have  no  reason  to  com 
plain/ 

'  Among  his  importations,'  I  inquired,  *  has  he  introduced 
the  European  code  of  morals  ?' 

'  Alas,  no !'  said  Mr.  Goodell.  '  Polygamy  and  concubinage 
are  as  rife  now  as  in  the  times  of  his  predecessors.  In  that 
respect  the  Turks  find  no  fault.  Mahmoud  has  four  wives,  the 
complement  allowed  by  the  Prophet ;  whilst  his  harem  is 
stocked  with  more  than  four  hundred  women.' 

'  As  you  say,  the  Prophet  allowed  four  wives,  though  he 
recommended  only  one  ;  which  is  hardly  to  be  wondered  at  after 
his  experience  of  fifteen.  But  where  does  the  Sultan  obtain  his 
supplies — does  he  buy  in  the  slave-market  of  Constantinople,  or 
of  private  dealers  ?' 

'  Of  course  not.  As  Sultan  he  has  the  pick  of  all  the  beauty 
imported.  The  choicest  lots,  as  the  auctioneers  say,  are  first 
submitted  to  him,  and  afterwards  go  for  sale  to  the  market.' 

'  What  is  the  usual  price,'  I  demanded,  *  for  a  Circassian 
beauty  ?' 

'That  depends  on  the  competition.  The  average  sum  is 
about  one  hundred  dollars  ;  but  the  greatest  expense  is  the 
maintenance  of  these  poor  creatures,  as  they  are  very  fond  of 
trinkets  and  fine  clothes.  A  Turk  must  be  quite  rich  to  keep 
up  an  extensive  harem.' 

'  The  lives  of  these  women  must  be  fearfully  monotonous.' 

1  It  would  be  so  if  they  had  ever  known  any  other  exist 
ence  ;  but  in  their  native  homes  of  Circassia  and  Georgia  they 
grow  up  mere  animals  ;  and  it  is  said  they  long  eagerly  for  the 
day  when  the  slave-merchant  will  arrive  to  strike  a  bargain  with 
their  mercenary  parents,  and  carry  them  off  to  the  fairy  realm  of 
Constantinople/ 


278  Constantinople. 


'Do  you  know  anything  about  the  condition  and  manage 
ment  of  the  harem  ?'  I  asked. 

*  Only  from  hearsay ;   for,  as  the  Arabic  derivation  of  the 
word — charam — imports,  it  is  the  "sacred"  part  of  the  house. 
No   male   ever   enters   it  but   the  owner,  save  physicians  and 
water-carriers.     It  is  always  the  best-furnished  part,  and  among 
the  wealthy  Turks  it  is  luxuriously  organised.     There  are  various 
suites   of  rooms,   according    to   the   number   of  inmates,   with 
numerous  attendants,  chiefly  black.     Musical  instruments  of  the 
simplest  kind,  as  the   mandolin,   are   provided.      Thus,  within 
doors,  the  time  is  passed  in  singing,  dancing,  bathing,  smoking, 
and  eating  sweets,  which  is  a  mania  with  Turkish  women.    Some 
of  the  more  favoured  damsels  of  the  rich  Turks  are  allowed  to 
vary  their  amusements  by  hiring  jugglers  and  story-tellers  in 
the  old  Oriental  style.     No  small  part  of  the  day  is  spent  in 
rambling  over  the  Bazaars  and  about  the  streets,  as  you  must 
have  observed.      They  may  go  where  they  please,   under  the 
strict  condition  of  never  exposing  the  face,  or  talking  to  any 
man,  least  of  all  to  a  Christian.' 

*  I  suppose  infidelity  is  of  rare   occurrence,  from  the  wide 
separation  of  the  sexes  ;  but  it  is  still  punished,  I  believe,  with 
drowning  in  a  sack  ?' 

'  As  you  say,'  responded  Mr.  Goodell,  '  it  is  unlikely  the 
offence  is  common,  not  only  from  the  complete  isolation  of  the 
women,  but  the  rigorous  supervision  exercised.  At  home  or 
abroad,  black  slaves,  male  and  female,  are  employed  to  forbid  or 
report  any  violation  of  usage.  The  superior  beauty  and  intelli 
gence  of  the  Greek  men  no  doubt  often  attract  the  admiring 
notice  of  the  women  of  the  harem  in  the  Bazaars  ;  and  it  is  said 
that,  without  conversation,  means  of  communication  are  found, 
and  intrigues  carried  on  by  the  medium  of  flowers.  Written 
correspondence  is  unknown,  as  the  harem  inmates  neither  read 
or  write.  In  cases  of  suspicion  the  delinquent  is  taken  before 
the  cadi  or  judge,  whose  only  code  is  the  Koran,  and  he  de 
cides  as  he  thinks  fit.  There  may  be  evidence,  or  only  sur 
mise  ;  but,  if  the  cadi  sees  no  objection,  the  victim  is  conducted 
to  the  Bosphorus,  put  in  a  caique,  where  her  hands  are  tied,  a 
sack  drawn  over,  and  she  is  thrown  into  the  stream.  Any  one 
who  chooses  may  stop  to  witness  the  act,  which  is  regarded  with 
indifference  and  as  a  matter  of  course.' 

'  It  is  inconceivable/  I  declared, '  that  such  barbarities  should 


Constantinople.  279 


exist  in  Europe  in  our  day.  But  is  there  no  check  on  the  caprice 
of  fas  cadi  T 

'  None.  He  is  the  sole  representative  of  the  law,  civil  and 
criminal,  as  laid  down  in  the  Koran.' 

'  I  have  heard  stories,'  I  remarked,  '  of  the  cruel  treatment  of 
the  women  in  the  harem.' 

'  It  is  next  to  impossible,'  was  the  reply,  *  to  know  what  trans 
pires  there.  That  punishments  are  inflicted  by  the  black  eunuchs 
who  act  as  gaolers  is  not  denied  ;  but,  of  course,  they  vary  irn 
degree  and  character.  Sometimes  whips  are  used  ;  at  others,, 
starvation  and  imprisonment  I  have  also  heard  that  in  cases, 
of  extreme  insubordination  women  are  sent  to  special  houses 
kept  for  the  purpose,  where  a  course  of  punishment,  including 
dungeons  and  torture,  is  inflicted  until  the  patient  is  returned 
thoroughly  cured.' 

I  All  this  is  new  to  me/  I  observed,  '  and  very  revolting.     It 
is  plain  that  in  Turkey  to-day  the  usages  of  the  East  of  centuries 
ago  are  still  flourishing.     Polygamy,  concubinage,  slavery,  white 
and  black,  are  as  common  as  in  the  days  of  Solomon.     It  is  a 
consolation,  however,  to  know  that  it  may  all  crumble  to  pieces 
at  any  moment.     Nothing  but  the  jealousy  of  England,  Russia, 
and  Austria  preserves  the  Turkish  Empire,  at  least  in  Europe. 
A  war  or  a  compromise  between  them  would  rid  Christendom 
of  the  horrors  you  have  related.     Is  the  slave-market  visited  by 
strangers  ?' 

*  Never  by  Christians,  who  are  excluded  ;  but  you  have  only 
to  turn  Turk,  and  you  may  go  and  buy  there  as  many  women, 
white  or  black,  as  may  suit  your  fancy  or  your  pocket.  The 
supply  is  always  kept  up,  and  the  merchandise  is  freely  paraded 
and  exhibited  without  disguise.  A  Turk  never  buys  a  "  pig  in 
a  poke." ' 

I 1  wonder/  I  inquired, '  if  such  a  thing  as  maternal  affection 
is  known  among  the  Turkish  women  ?' 

'  It  may  exist  in  a  moderate  degree/  said  Mr.  Goodell, 'among 
those  in  the  rank  of  wives,  but  I  doubt  if  it  extends  to  the  class 
of  mere  concubines.  The  affections,  like  plants,  must  be  culti 
vated  to  thrive.  Among  barbarous  nations  history  proves  that 
natural  ties  are  little  regarded.  Among  the  Turks,  as  you  see, 
women  are  considered  inferior  beings,  mere  chattels,  playthings, 
animals ;  and  their  progeny  can  have  but  little  hold  on  either 
father  or  mother,  I  fancy.  They  grow  up  without  education,  and 


2  8  o  Constantinople. 


are  disposed  of  according  to  their  position.  The  boys  go  into 
the  army,  the  administration,  or  the  priesthood,  and  others 
follow  various  occupations  ;  whilst  the  girls  are  got  rid  of  in 
marriage  a  la  Turque,  or  otherwise/ 

'Is  there  is  any  such  thing  as  divorce  recognised  by  the 
Koran  ?' 

'  Yes,  as  far  as  the  husband  is  concerned.  If  dissatisfied  with 
a  wife,  he  has  only  to  say,  "  Get  thee  gone  ;  I  banish  thee 
from  my  house,"  and  she  ceases  from  that  moment  to  be  a  mar 
ried  woman.  She  is  at  liberty  to  marry  again,  and  she  has 
another  right  of  importance  :  she  retains  possession  of  any  pro 
perty  previously  hers.' 

'  Can  a  wife  dismiss  a  husband  in  the  same  summary  fashion?' 

'  No  ;  that  privilege  is  confined  exclusively  to  the  male  sex. 
These  divorces,  however,  are  not  frequent,  as  the  husband  may 
console  himself  by  adding  to  his  wives  within  the  limit  of  the 
Koran  ;  or,  if  he  prefers,  can  fill  his  harem  with  as  many  con 
cubines  from  the  market  as  his  means  allow.' 

'  Who  does  the  work  in  a  Turkish  household  ?' 

'  The  black  slaves,  male  and  female.' 

'Allow  me  to  put  a  question  about  Mahometanism.  Into 
how  many  sects  is  it  divided  ?' 

'  Only  two,'  repeated  Mr.  Goodell,  '  of  any  importance,  and 
with  very  little  difference.  The  Sunnites  are  spread  over  Turkey, 
Arabia,  Egypt,  and  the  Barbary  States  ;  the  Chyites  are  domi 
nant  in  Persia.' 

'  The  priesthood  are  distributed,  if  I  remember,  into  various 
classes,'  I  pursued. 

'  Yes,'  said  my  informant ;  '  into  several.  The  highest  is  the 
Ulema,  who  is  not  only  a  minister  of  religion,  but  a  doctor  of  law, 
as  prescribed  in  the  Koran.  Next  come  the  Mufti,  the  Iman, 
the  Mollah.  This  hierarchy  is  presided  over  by  the  Cheik  ul 
Islam,  who  ranks  next  to  the  Sultan  ;  and  this  ecclesiastical  body 
is  the  only  check  on  the  absolute  authority  of  the  potentate.' 

'  What  is  the  position,'  I  asked,  '  of  the  dancing  Dervishes  in 
the  Ottoman  religion  ?' 

'  They  are  a  kind  of  Mussulman  monk,  and  sprang  up  about 
a  hundred  years  after  the  death  of  the  Prophet.  They  consist, 
it  is  said,  of  thirty-two  different  orders,  and  live  in  common  in  a 
sort  of  convent.  They  take  vows  of  poverty  and  chastity,  but 
are  not  much  credited  with  either.  They  live  on  the  alms  of  the 


Constantinople.  281 


faithful.  They  wander  all  over  the  empire,  and  are  easily  recog 
nised  by  their  tall  sugar-loaf  caps,  and  long  robes  tied  with  a 
girdle,  from  which  hangs  a  tin  pouch  for  donations.  To  stimu 
late  charity  they  perform  acrobatic  feats  that  can  hardly  be  called 
dancing.  They  revolve  with  great  dexterity  on  the  heel  of  one 
foot,  and  use  the  other  as  a  propeller  to  keep  up  the  motion. 
They  are  also  very  expert  in  jugglery.' 

'  You  must  be  tired,'  I  declared,  '  of  my  wearisome  catechism, 
but  one  inquiry  more.  Of  whom  does  the  Divan  or  Cabinet  of 
the  Sultan  consist  ?' 

'  The  chief  Minister,'  said  Mr.  Goodell,  '  is  the  Grand  Vizier. 
Next  comes  the  Reis  Effendi,  or  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs. 
There  is  also  a  Minister  of  the  Interior,  with  a  hard  Turkish 
name.  The  Seraskier  or  Commander-in-Chief  of  the  Army,  and 
the  Capitan-Pasha  or  Grand  Admiral  of  the  Fleet,  are  like 
wise  members  of  the  Cabinet.  But  you  must  not  suppose  that 
these  persons  have  the  least  independence,  or  exercise  the  least 
influence  over  the  Government,  especially  in  the  reign  of  the  pre 
sent  Sultan.  They  are  nothing  more  than  lackeys  to  do  his 
bidding.  Any  disobedience,  and  they  are  thrown  into  prison, 
if  not  bowstrung  forthwith.' 

'Just  the  style  of  government,'  I  remarked,  'in  vogue  a  thou 
sand  years  ago.  Have  these  men  any  special  capacity  for  their 
functions  ?' 

*  That  may  or  may  not  be  the  case.  They  owe  their  position 
to  the  caprice  of  the  Sultan,  who  for  one  reason  or  another  has 
taken  a  fancy  to  them.  They  are  often  men  of  low  origin,  some 
times  with  good  natural  ability,  but  no  education.  Many  a 
seraskier  and  capitan-pasha  began  life  as  a  Georgian  or  Circas 
sian  slave.  This  shows,  as  you  say,  how  little  the  East  has 
changed  for  centuries/ 

'  Have  the  Ministers  any  social  importance?' 

1  Whilst  in  power,  yes,  but  the  day  afterwards  are  lost  in  the 
common  herd.  In  a  country  where  a  boatman  or  a  shoemaker 
may  be  made  a  Grand  Vizier  one  day,  and  sent  back  to  his  busi 
ness  the  next,  if  not  otherwise  disposed  of,  there  can  be  no 
stability  of  position  no  permanence  in  rank.  Everything,  for 
tune  and  life  included,  is  at  the  mercy  of  the  despot.  His  smile 
or  frown  means  prosperity  or  ruin.' 

'  Just  as  it  was  a  thousand  years  ago,'  I  replied  mechanically. 
'  One  final  question.  How  is  the  revenue  collected  ?' 


282  -Constantinople. 


'  By  an  army  of  tax-gatherers  under  the  control  of  the  pashas 
or  governors  of  the  various  districts  of  the  empire.' 

*  Who  appoints  these  ?' 

'  Sometimes  the  Sultan  names  one  of  his  favourites,  at  others 
the  Grand  Vizier  sells  these  lucrative  posts  to  the  highest  bidder. 
In  order  to  pay  the  bribe,  and  enrich  himself,  the  pasha  extorts 
the  last  penny  from  his  victims.  There  have  been  •  instances 
where  the  population  of  a  whole  province  has  fled  from  grinding 
oppression  into  some  other  part  of  the  land/ 

'  This  was  the  condition  of  the  peasantry  of  Europe  in  the 
Middle  Ages  under  the  feudal  system,'  I  replied  ;  '  and  as  that  has 
disappeared,  so  let  us  hope  the  days  of  the  merciless  pashas  of 
Turkey  are  numbered.'  Hereupon  I  rose,  and  thanked  Mr.  Goodell 
for  his  good-natured  endurance  of  my  tedious  cross-examination. 
'  I  have  read,'  I  added,  '  not  a  few  books  of  travellers  in  Turkey, 
and  been  delighted  with  many  of  their  vivid  descriptions,  but 
from  none  of  them  have  I  gleaned  half  the  information  your  long 
residence  here  has  enabled  you  to  afford  me.' 

I  got  back  to  the  Legation  just  in  time  for  dinner.  The 
Commodore  wondered  what  had  become  of  me,  and  I  related  the 
long  ' confab'  I  had  just  held  with  Mr.  Goodell  on  the  Turks  and 
their  odd  ways. 

'  You  could  not  go,'  said  the  Minister,  '  to  a  better  source  for 
instruction.  He  is  well  informed  on  these  topics,  and  is  entirely 
reliable/ 

During  the  evening  my  host  was  full  of  conversation,  and  told 
numerous  anecdotes  of  his  adventurous  life  with  great  gusto.  It 
was  late  before  we  retired. 

During  the  night  I  woke  up  very  unwell.  I  was  attacked  with 
violent  perspiration,  headache,  and  nausea  ;  in  short,  with  all  the 
symptoms  of  the  plague.  I  hesitated  to  raise  an  alarm,  as  it 
might  only  be  a  passing  derangement  of  the  stomach;  so  I  screwed 
up  my  nerves  and  set  the  plague  at  defiance.  I  had  the  liveliest 
horror  of  becoming  a  permanent  resident  of  Turkey,  even  under 
the  shade  of  a  cypress-tree.  I  was  all  right  again  in  the  morning  ; 
and  when  I  related  at  breakfast  what  had  befallen  me,  and  my 
dread  lest  the  fumigation  had  failed  of  its  effect,  the  Commo 
dore  inquired  if  I  had  been  eating  fruit. 

'  Only  some  green  figs/  I  replied. 

'  I  should  have  warned  you/  he  said,  '  that  nothing  was  so 
likely  to  disturb  any  one  unaccustomed  to  them/ 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 
CONSTANTINOPLE  (continued). 

THE  PADISHAH AN  AMERICAN  SHIP- BUILDER A  DIAMOND  SHOW— 

THE  SERAGLIO  AND  ST.  SOPHIA. 

WE  had  settled  on  returning  to  Constantinople  that  day,  and 
the  Commodore  said  he  would  write  to  the  Dragoman  of  the 
Legation  to  call  and  escort  us  to  any  places  of  interest  where  he 
could  obtain  access.  He  gave  us  also  a  letter  to  Mr.  Rhodes, 
the  American  ship-builder  in  the  service  of  the  Sultan,  for  whom 
he  had  constructed  a  frigate  the  Commodore  pronounced  'a  tip-top 
vessel.'  As  the  weather  was  fine,  he  recommended  us  to  return 
by  water,  and  directed  a  boat  to  be  secured  for  the  purpose.  We 
took  only  a  temporary  leave  of  our  distinguished  Minister,  as  we 
promised  to  return  for  a  farewell  visit. 

The  row  back  of  some  three  hours  we  found  much  easier  work 
than  clinging  desperately  to  a  Turkish  saddle.  Just  as  we  entered 
the  Bosphorus  we  observed  a  showy-looking  barge  coming  our 
way,  and  we  endeavoured  to  ascertain  from  our  boatman  who  was 
the  occupant  of  this  richly-gilt  water  equipage.  With  a  startled 
look  he  put  his  ringer  on  his  mouth,  and  bent  his  gaze  downwards. 
As  it  passed  we  remarked  a  handsome  man,  with  a  dark  well- 
trimmed  beard,  wearing  a  fez  and  an  embroidered  coat,  seated 
a  la  Turque  under  a  rich  canopy,  to  protect  him  from  the  sun. 
It  was  evidently  some  high  official,  and  we  raised  our  hats  in 
courtesy,  which  was  acknowledged  by  a  careless  nod.  As  he 
glanced  towards  us  I  observed  his  eye  was  large  and  clear,  with 
an  expression  somewhat  startling,  an  *  eye  like  Mars,  to  threaten 
and  command.'  When  we  had  got  out  of  earshot  the  boatman  in 
a  low  voice  said,  *  The  Padishah'  It  sounded  like  an  Irish  name, 
but  it  was  the  Arabic  word  for  Sultan.  We  had  just  bowed, 
without  suspecting  it,  to  his  Sublimity  the  Grand  Turk  himself, 
and  were  glad  to  have  had  a  glimpse  of  him,  as  it  was  the  only 
one  we  were  likely  to  get.  I  learned  afterwards  the  secret  of  our 
boatman's  alarm,  as  it  was  strictly  ordered  by  the  Sultan  that  none. 


284  Const  a  n  tinople. 


of  his  subjects  should  recognise  him  when  he  passed.  It  was  his 
habit  to  rove  about  at  all  hours,  and  he  demanded  no  notice 
should  be  taken  of  his  presence,  under  pains  and  penalties. 

We  returned  to  our  former  lodgings  on  the  Bosphorus,  and  our 
worthy  captain  welcomed  us  right  heartily.  After  dinner  we  set 
off  with  him  to  find  Mr.  Rhodes,  and  by  dint  of  rowing  about  we 
discovered  him  at  one  of  his  numerous  dockyards.  He  was  up  to 
his  eyes  in  work,  his  coat  off,  his  sleeves  rolled  back,  a  Greek  cap 
on  his  head,  and  an  immense  diamond  pin  glittering  on  his  shirt- 
front.  He  seemed  delighted  to  meet  a  couple  of  his  countrymen, 
and,  after  showing  us  about  for  a  time,  proposed  to  knock  off 
work,  and  take  us  to  his  house  for  a  longer  chat.  He  was  a  tall 
muscular  man,  with  a  pleasant  countenance,  off-hand  manner, 
earnest  and  energetic.  He  said  he  had  a  splendid  berth,  that  the 
Sultan  considered  him  a  treasure,  and  lavished  no  end  of  rewards 
and  honours  upon  him.  He  stated  that  Mahmoud  was  eager  to 
repair  his  immense  losses  at  Navarino,  and  that  one  ship  was  no 
sooner  built  than  he  ordered  another. 

'  This  suits  me  exactly/  said  Mr.  Rhodes  ;  '  for  if  there  is  any 
thing  I  really  love,  it  is  putting  a  ship  together.' 

'  It  is  certain,'  I  replied,  '  the  Sultan  has  got  a  prize  in  you  ; 
for  Commodore  Porter  says  that,  as  a  naval  constructor,  you 
have  no  superior  anywhere.' 

1 1  am  flattered  by  the  Commodore's  commendation,  for  he 
understands  a  ship  as  well  as  I  do.' 

'  Tell  me,'  I  asked,  '  how  you  get  on  with  the  Sultan.  I 
hear  he  spends  a  good  deal  of  his  time  in  your  work-yards. 
Does  he  interfere  with  you  much  ?' 

'  I  don't  allow  him,'  said  the  blunt  ship-builder.  '  I  carry  out 
my  own  ideas.  If  he  makes  a  good  suggestion,  I  adopt  it ;  if  it 
is  a  bad  one,  I  reject  it.' 

'  Does  he  growl  at  you  ?'  I  inquired  ;  '  for  they  say  there's  a 
deal  of  the  tiger  in  him.' 

'  I  think,'  said  Mr.  Rhodes,  smiling,  '  I  astonish  him  some 
times.  At  others  he  is  amused.  At  all  events,  he  likes  my 
work,  and  that  is  the  main  point.' 

'  Lucky  you  are  not  a  Turk,'  remarked  Forrest. 

*  In  that  case,  I  would  obey  him  and  build  catamarans/ 

Whilst  talking,  we  were  gliding  over  the  glassy  Bosphorus 
to  Mr.  Rhodes'  house,  which  was  given  him  by  the  Sultan  ;  and 
pn  reaching  it  we  found  it  delightfully  situated,  and  most  com- 


Constantinople.  285 


fortably  furnished  in  the  style  he  had  been  accustomed  to  at 
home.  His  residence  in  Turkey  had  neither  demoralised  his 
habits,  manners,  or  morals.  He  had  contracted  no  fancy  for 
cushions,  but  sat  like  a  Christian  on  a  chair,  with  his  legs  before 
him  ;  and  shunned  the  attractions  of  polygamy  and  the  charms 
of  Circassian  slaves,  though  he  could  have  well  afforded  either. 

It  was  a  treat,  in  this  outlandish  place,  to  find  myself  in  a 
house  that  ha*d  quite  an  American  tone,  and  I  would  not  have 
exchanged  my  pleasant  sensations  whilst  rocking  in  a  Boston 
chair  for  all  the  vain  delights  of  the  Mahometan  paradise. 
Whilst  quaffing  some  delicious  tea,  imported  from  Russia,  and 
which  I  found  infinitely  more  palatable  than  the  turbid  coffee  of 
the  Turks,  our  host  entertained  us  with  many  racy  anecdotes 
of  his  daily  life  in  Islam.  At  last  I  called  on  him  for  the  dis 
play  of  his  presents  from  his  munificent  Highness  the  Sultan,. 
and  he  at  once  spread  before  us  a  dazzling  array  of  snuff-boxes, 
rings,  stars,  pins,  and  chains,  all  set  in  diamonds  of  great  size 
and  purest  water.  There  were  more  than  enough  to  constitute 
a  splendid  stock-in-trade  for  the  richest  jeweller  in  New  York. 
It  was  hard  work  to  contemplate  them  without  blinking,  and 
one  could  scarcely  help  wishing  he  had  been  born  a  ship-builder 
in  the  employment  of  Mahmoud  II. 

1  When  you  give  up  the  manufacture  of  frigates,'  I  said,  '  you 
have  only  to  turn  these  treasures  into  a  seven  per  cent  stock, 
and  you  might  snap  your  fingers  at  an  English  lord,  unless  you 
preferred  to  bequeath  them  to  your  posterity  as  heirlooms.' 

1  My  posterity,'  retorted  the  true  American,  *  must  take  care 
of  themselves.  What  do  I  want  with  such  gewgaws  ?  I  intend 
to  sell  them  to  the  highest  bidder  in  the  best  market.' 

'  In  that  case,'  I  replied,  picking  up  a  breast-pin  in  the  shape 
of  a  star,  containing  just  seventy  diamonds,  which  I  had  taken 
a  fancy  to,  '  put  your  price  on  this  gem,  for  I  am  bound  to  carry 
it  off  as  a  souvenir.' 

'  Put  your  own  price  on  it,  for  I  know  nothing  of  the  value 
of  such  things.' 

Of  course  I  refused  to  do  that ;  but  Mr.  Rhodes,  with  the 
utmost  insouciance,  agreed  that  his  other  two  guests — Forrest 
and  the  captain  of  our  steamer — should  appraise  it,  which  they 
did,  and  I  took  it  cheerfully  at  their  estimate.  I  broke  it  up 
afterwards  into  sundry  rings,  which  I  distributed  amongst  my 
female  favourites. 


286  Constantinople. 


After  a  very  merry  evening,  we  rose  to  go  ;  but  Mr.  Rhodes 
said  he  would  accompany  us  to  our  boat,  else  we  might  fall  into 
the  hands  of  the  sentinels  scattered  about,  who  allowed  no  one 
to  pass  without  the  watchword.  As  we  pursued  our  way  along 
the  deserted  streets,  we  were  howled  at  and  barked  at  by  the 
hideous  curs  that  infest  Constantinople,  and  are  almost  as 
dangerous  as  wolves.  Mr.  Rhodes  had  providently  brought 
some  of  his  servants  with  him  to  beat  off  the  famished  crea 
tures,  that  seemed  thirsting  for  Christian  blood.  We  promised, 
at  parting,  to  be  ready  next  morning  after  breakfast  to  accom 
pany  our  friend  to  inspect  the  latest  specimen  of  his  handi 
work,  then  lying  in  the  Bosphorus,  and  which  the  Sultan  ad 
mired  so  much  that  he  named  it  after  himself. 

Soon  after  ten  o'clock  the  following  morning  Mr.  Rhodes 
hailed  us  from  his  caique,  and,  rinding  us  prepared,  bade  us  follow 
in  his  wake.  The  captain  of  our  steamer  joined  us  with  alac 
rity  ;  he  was  much  better  able  than  ourselves  to  appreciate  the 
tidy  bit  of  work  we  were  going  to  inspect.  As  we  approached 
the  noble  craft,  we  were  all  struck  with  her  immense  size  and 
really  beautiful  proportions.  The  captain  was  in  ecstasies  ;  and 
even  with  my  landlubber  eyes  I  could  not  but  remark  the  grace 
of  her  outlines,  and  the  harmony  of  her  shape.  We  followed 
Mr.  Rhodes  on  board,  who  conducted  us  over  all  parts  of  the 
leviathan.  We  were  full  of  admiration  at  every  turn,  and  I  had 
an  opportunity  of  picking  up  from  the  conversation  of  our  cap 
tain  and  Mr.  Rhodes  a  deal  of  useful  knowledge  about  such 
vessels.  She  had  not  only  all  the  modern  improvements  intro 
duced  into  ships  of  war,  but  others  of  Mr.  Rhodes'  own  inven 
tion.  One,  for  instance,  I  thought  striking.  He  had  connected 
water-pipes  with  the  powder-magazine,  so  as  to  prevent  explo 
sion  in  case  of  fire.  She  carried  a  heavy  armament — I  forget 
the  number  of  guns ;  but  I  could  form  some  opinion  of  their 
noisy  reverberation,  for,  whilst  on  board,  the  Sultan  crossed  the 
Bosphorus  in  state  to  attend  one  of  the  mosques,  and  the 
whole  fleet  in  the  harbour  began  firing  broadsides,  manning 
their  yards,  and  spreading  their  bunting  fore  and  aft  It  was  a 
very  pretty  sight,  but  made  my  tympanum  tingle. 

I  was  not  a  little  amused  at  the  utter  want  of  subordination 
among  the  crew,  numbering  several  hundred,  in  contrast  to  that 
maintained  on  all  European  and  American  vessels  of  war.  In 
stead  of  the  neat  dress,  the  martial  air,  the  deference  to  rank, 


Constantinople.  287 


and  the  rigid  discipline  found  in  these,  the  Sultan's  jolly  tars 
were  scattered  up  and  down  the  immense  decks,  squatting  on 
their  crossed  legs,  like  a  bevy  of  tailors,  rigged  out  in  turbans  and 
flowing  trousers,  and  every  one  with  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  A 
decorous  silence  was  preserved,  and  much  gravity  of  mien  ;  but 
that  is  a  Turk's  normal  condition.  To  talk  or  gesticulate  is 
against  his  torpid  nature.  There  seemed  to  be  no  real  distinc 
tion  of  ranks,  for  the  officers,  though  better  dressed,  were  gathered 
up  on  their  legs  among  the  men,  as  if  they  were  all  on  a  common 
level,  like  so  many  Quakers  or  St.  Simonians.  The  effect  was 
exceedingly  grotesque. 

On  sea  or  land  the  Turks  fight  well,  for  the  Koran  tells  them 
that  death  in  battle  is  a  sure  passport  to  paradise.  Who  would 
not  fight  with  such  a  temptation  !  As  we  rowed  away  from  the 
frigate,  I  spied  a  man  in  uniform  on  a  platform,  suspended  over 
the  ship's  side,  scrubbing  away  for  dear  life  with  a  long-handled 
brush,  which  he  wielded  with  singular  dexterity.  I  inquired  who 
he  was. 

'  O,  that  is  the  first  lieutenant,'  said  Mr.  Rhodes. 

I  was  vastly  amused  at  this  novel  sphere  of  duty  for  the  first 
officer  of  a  line-of-battle  ship,  and  took  it  as  an  additional  proof 
of  the  Turkish  love  of  cleanliness. 

We  all  went  home  with  Mr.  Rhodes  to  dine,  and  fared  sump 
tuously.  Among  other  interesting  stories  he  related  was  one 
I  will  repeat.  He  was  the  first  person  to  introduce  in  this  part 
of  the  world  the  ordinary  mode  of  launching  a  vessel  down  an 
inclined  plane.  Previously  the  Turks  were  in  the  habit,  as  their 
ancestors  before  them,  of  hauling  a  ship  into  the  stream  by  ropes. 
All  Constantinople  was  stirred  to  its  depths  with  the  liveliest 
curiosity  on  the  day  when  the  new  method  of  making  a  vessel 
launch  itself  was  to  be  carried  into  effect.  The  Sultan  ordered 
all  the  houses  opposite  to  the  dockyard  to  be  cleared  of  their 
inhabitants,  to  make  room  for  himself  and  the  ladies  of  his 
harem,  numbering  some  400.  All  the  dignitaries  of  the  empire 
turned  out  in  force.  Even  the  sluggish  population  of  Stamboul 
wended  their  way  thither,  half  anxious,  half  curious,  as  if  about 
to  witness  a  miracle.  Opium-smokers  laid  down  their  pipes,  and 
the  snarling  dogs  almost  ceased  to  bark. 

When  the  signal  was  given,  the  blocks  were  knocked  away, 
and  after  a  moment's  pause  the  towering  mass  began  to  move. 
A  deep  low  murmur  of  wonder  escaped  from  the  assembled 


288  Constantinople. 


thousands.  The  majestic  vessel,  as  if  conscious  of  her  freedom, 
glided  swiftly  down  the  slope  till,  with  a  mighty  plunge,  she 
dashed  into  her  native  element,  and  gracefully  swung  round 
under  the  control  of  her  hawsers.  Dumbfounded  and  amazed, 
the  immense  throng  were  silent.  To  the  Mussulman  mind  it 
was  an  inscrutable  mystery  ;  for  to  a  Turk  mechanical  agencies 
were  utterly  unknown.  Profoundly  moved,  the  vast  multitude 
dispersed,  and  sought  the  refuge  of  their  mosques  to  commune 
with  Allah  over  this  incomprehensible  phenomenon.  There  was 
some  danger  that  day  of  Mahomet  being  deposed,  and  of  Mr. 
Rhodes  being  declared  the  true  prophet. 

On  returning  to  our  steamer  in  the  evening,  we  found  the 
Dragoman  of  our  Legation  waiting  for  us,  having  called,  he  said, 
at  the  request  of  the  Minister  to  offer  us  his  services.  We  agreed 
on  our  programme  for  the  next  day,  and  after  a  pleasant  con 
versation  he  went  away. 

These  Dragomans,  or  official  interpreters,  are  an  influential 
body  at  Constantinople.  They  are  necessarily  intelligent  and 
educated  men,  mostly  Greeks,  and  from  their  functions  and  inti 
macy  with  the  Diplomatic  Corps  are  held  in  great  respect.  All 
the  leading  ambassadors  have  a  special  Dragoman  attached  to 
them. 

We  began  our  round  next  morning,  under  the  escort  of  our 
new  acquaintance,  by  a  visit  to  the  Seraglio,  the  most  famous 
of  the  Sultan's  palaces.  It  is  charmingly  situated  at  the  junction 
of  the  Bosphorus  with  the  Sea  of  Marmora,  and  covers  an 
immense  extent  of  ground,  enclosed  within  lofty  walls.  No 
Christian  foot  is  ever  suffered  to  profane  its  sacred  precincts. 
Indeed,  it  was  a  rare  privilege  to  be  allowed  to  enter  the  do-^ 
main  at  all.  This  was  only  effected  through  the  influence  of  our  • 
Dragoman,  who  was  a  friend  of  the  officer  on  duty.  It  is  never 
occupied,  we  were  told,  by  the  Sultan,  who  resided  by  turns  in 
several  smaller  palaces  of  modern  structure,  dotting  both  banks 
of  the  Bosphorus.  He  is  so  apprehensive  of  assassination — 
such  is  the  hatred  of  his  subjects — that  he  carefully  conceals  his 
whereabouts.  The  Seraglio  we  inspected  was  devoted  to  the 
occupation  of  the  wives  and  vast  retinue  of  concubines  belong 
ing  to  his  Ottoman  Majesty.  These,  with  their  numerous  atten 
dants,  white  and  black,  were  supposed  to  make  up  a  population 
of  near  2000  persons.  We  were  permitted  by  the  jealous  guards 
to  approach  so  near  the  hallowed  edifice  as  to  obtain  a  furtive 


Constantinople.  289 


glimpse  of  its  vast  kitchens ;  but  the  strange  compound  of 
unsavoury  odours  issuing  therefrom  soon  drove  me  to  a  more 
respectful  distance. 

Our  attention  was  chiefly  directed  to  the  gardens,  which  were 
on  an  immense  scale,  and  for  a  considerable  distance  skirted  by 
the  blue  waters  of  the  Marmora.  There  was  a  general  appear 
ance  of  neglect.  The  walks  were  in  disorder,  the  trees  un- 
pruned,  the  grass  uncut.  It  reminded  me  of  the  dilapidated 
condition  of  its  master's  fortunes.  There  were  some  pretty 
fountains  and  flower-beds ;  groves  of  orange  and  lemon  trees  ; 
here  and  there  a  small  mosque  with  its  miniature  minarets  ; 
somewhat  picturesque,  but,  as  a  whole,  incomparably  less  beau 
tiful  than  the  thousand  and  one  gardens  I  saw  in  Italy.  What 
wonders  may  be  hidden  within  the  mystic  recesses  of  the  ancient 
Seraglio  is  left  to  the  imagination  ;  but  such  is  the  ignorant  in 
sensibility  of  the  Turks  to  the  fine  arts,  that  it  is  certain  neither 
pictures  nor  statuary  are  numbered  amongst  its  attractions.  It 
is  likely  nothing  but  a  repetition  of  what  I  saw  at  San  Stefano, 
save  on  a  large  scale. 

No  doubt  the  beauties  of  the  palace  would  amply  atone  for  the 
absence  of  the  rarest  productions  of  the  chisel  or  the  brush  ;  but 
so  cautiously  were  they  protected  from  even  a  wandering  eye, 
that  the  windows  of  the  harem  were  covered  with  the  finest  lattice 
work,  that  defied  the  keenest  scrutiny.  I  was  likely  to  leave  Con 
stantinople  as  I  entered  it,  utterly  ignorant  of  the  claims  of  either 
Circassian  or  Georgian  women  to  superlative  loveliness;  but  from 
what  I  heard  they  are  only  prized  by  these  barbarians  when  they 
obtain  the  rotundity  appreciated  in  a  Strasburg  goose,  which  is 
cooped  up  and  fattened  till  thought  worthy  of  being  devoured 
in  the  shape  of  a  pate  de  foie  gras.  The  Turks  care  nothing  for  the 
graceful  curve  and  winding  outline  of  the  female  figure  that  Chris 
tians  are  given  to  admire. 

From  the  gardens  of  the  Seraglio  we  pushed  on  to  visit  the 
renowned  mosque  of  St.  Sophia.  It  was  only  by  bribery  we 
were  allowed  to  intrude  our  profane  noses  within  this  vener 
able  shrine.  It  was  the  first  time  I  had  ever  seen  an  edifice 
used  for  worship  without  any  symbol  indicating  its  pious  cha 
racter.  There  were  neither  altars,  or  pulpits,  or  images,  or 
paintings  of  a  sacred  character.  The  vast  interior  was  almost 
shrouded  in  darkness.  I  could  merely  discern  that  the  pave 
ment  was  covered  with  matting,  and  that  numerous  disciples  of 

u 


290  Constantinople. 


the  Prophet  were  scattered  about  on  their  haunches,  as  usual, 
absorbed  in  their  devotions. 

Whatever  a  Christian  may  think  of  the  Turkish  religion,  he 
cannot  withhold  his  respect  to  the  sincerity  of  its  followers. 
The  gravity  and  dignity  of  a  Turk's  demeanour  are  at  all  times 
imposing;  but  when  engaged  at  his  prayers  his  solemnity  of 
expression  and  manner  is  truly  impressive.  With  his  face 
turned  towards  the  tomb  of  the  Prophet  at  Medina,  he  seems 
wholly  absorbed  in  devotional  meditation.  He  bends  forwards 
at  intervals,  his  head  almost  touching  the  earth,  but  with  none 
of  that  abject  abasement  or  superstitious  prostration  before  gilded 
images  that  I  found  so  repulsive  in  the  Russian  boor.  The 
Turks  may  be  heathens,  but  cannot  be  stigmatised  as  idolaters. 

I  could  descry  nothing  in  the  shape  of  ornament  on  glancing 
round  St.  Sophia,  save  a  large  glass  chandelier  suspended  in  the 
centre,  that  looked  ancient  and  unused.  It  is  said  the  walls 
are  ornamented  with  splendid  mosaics,  dating  from  the  period 
when  it  was  a  Christian  church  ;  but  that  the  Turks,  in  their 
horror  of  art,  covered  them  over  centuries  ago  with  plaster. 
Though  there  is  nothing  of  the  bewildering  grandeur  of  St. 
Peter's,  yet  who  could  help  being  impressed  by  this  mighty  relic 
of  past  ages  ? 

On  this  very  site  in  Roman  days  stood  the  Temple  of  Wis 
dom.  Constantine  transformed  it  into  the  first  Christian  church 
in  the  world  about  332  A.D.,  dedicating  it  to  St.  Sophia.  It  was 
partially  burnt  in  404  ;  rebuilt,  and  again  destroyed  in  532.  The 
same  year  it  was  restored  by  Justinian.  Ten  thousand  workmen 
were  employed,  and  it  was  consecrated  in  537.  Its  dimensions 
are  243  feet  in  breadth,  and  269  in  length.  The  diameter  of  the 
dome  is  115  feet,  and  its  height  from  the  floor  is  180  feet.  It 
was  fortified  with  new  buttresses  in  1317,  and  finally  converted 
into  a  mosque  by  Mahomet  II.  in  1453.  When  will  it  be  re 
stored  to  the  worship  of  the  true  faith,  in  whose  honour  it  was 
first  erected  ?  I  cannot  believe  the  day  is  very  far  distant. 

I  went  afterwards  to  obtain  a  glimpse  of  some  other  mosques, 
but  there  was  nothing  striking  or  different  from  what  I  had  seen. 
In  all  the  great  courts  surrounding  them  were  large  marble  basins 
supplied  by  fountains,  in  which  the  Turks  performed  their  ablu 
tions  before  entering  the  mosque,  an  indispensable  usage.  They 
also  left  their  slippers  at  the  door,  and  walked  in  barefooted.  It 
is  only  from  the  exterior,  however,  that  a  mosque  is  seen  to  the 


Cons  tan  tinople.  2  9 1 


greatest  advantage,  which  is  due  chiefly  to  the  graceful  effect  of 
the  minarets,  which  adorn  them  all  in  varying  numbers.  The 
minaret  is  a  tall  slender  steeple,  that  may  be  likened  to  a  gigan 
tic  wax  candle  topped  by  an  extinguisher.  Sometimes  they  are 
ornamented  with  gilding,  and  all  are  encircled  by  light  balconies. 
On  the  topmost  one  of  these  the  muezzin,  an  ecclesiastic  attached 
to  the  mosque,  appears  five  times  a  day,  and,  turning  successively 
to  the  four  quarters  of  the  heavens,  he  chants  in  a  loud  voice, 
'  There  is  no  God  but  God  ;  Mahomet  is  His  Prophet.'  This  is  the 
signal  for  prayer,  c*nd  the  cry  is  no  sooner  heard  than  all  good 
Turks  who  are  masters  of  their  time  hurry  away  to  the  mosques. 
We  were  conducted  by  our  amiable  guide,  the  Dragoman, 
to  inspect  other  curiosities,  and  amongst  the  rest  an  immense 
repository  of  valuable  merchandise,  built  of  stone,  and  thus  pro 
tected  from  the  disastrous  conflagrations  that  prey  repeatedly 
on  the  wooden  structures  of  Constantinople.  These  frequent  fires 
are  doubtless  useful  in  a  sanitary  point  of  view,  as  they  consume 
a  deal  of  filth  that  would  only  engender  disease.  We  returned 
quite  fatigued  to  our  floating  home,  having  exhausted  the  limited 
round  of  sight-seeing  in  this  dull  town.  Next  morning,  to  our 
delight,  we  heard  an  Austrian  steamer  was  leaving  for  Smyrna, 
and  we  determined  to  make  o.ur  escape.  There  was  nothing 
more  to  be  seen,  and  the  plague  continued  raging  with  virulence, 
which,  in  spite  of  our  philosophy,  cast  a  gloom  over  everything. 
At  every  instant  caiques  with  their  dead  freight  were  darting  by 
our  steamer,  and  I  felt  a  lively  longing  to  contemplate  something 
a  little  more  exhilarating.  I  was  sorry  to  abandon  a  second  visit 
to  our  estimable  Minister  and  his  family,  but  I  despatched  a  mes 
senger  with  a  note,  explaining  the  motives  of  our  sudden  retreat. 
I  received  the  following  reply  from  his  nephew  : 

San  Stefano,  October  20,  1835. 

Dear  Wikoff, — I  herewith  enclose  the  magazine  the  Com 
modore  presented  you  as  a  souvenir,  containing  the  likeness  of 
our  famous  dog  '  Cora  Gen/  It  was  with  heartfelt  regret  we 
were  informed  of  your  speedy  departure  from  Stamboul,  as  we 
had  flattered  ourselves  with  again  enjoying  the  pleasure  of  your 
society  at  our  solitary  village,  and  of  becoming  better  acquainted 
with  each  other.  As  the  opportunity  has  been  denied  me  in 
Turkey,  I  hope  the  day  is  not  far  distant  when  I  shall  again 
visit  my  happy  country,  and  be  enabled  to  avail  myself  of  your 


292  Constantinople. 


friendly  invitation. — With  kind  regards  from  us  all  to  yourself 
and  Mr.  Forrest,  believe  me,  yours  most  truly, 

G.  A.  PORTER. 

Henry  Wikoff,  Esq. 

I  made  a  flying  call  on  my  English  banker,  Mr.  Churchill,  a 
very  agreeable  person,  who  had  lived  some  eighteen  years  in  this 
capital.  He  resided  in  Asia,  and  transacted  his  daily  business 
in  Europe,  which  feat  he  accomplished  by  simply  crossing  the 
river.  In  the  afternoon  we  took  a  farewell  row  up  the  Bosphorus, 
and  enjoyed  without  stint  this  really  pleasing  spectacle.  The 
numerous  pretty  villas  lining  both  sides  of  the  river,  painted  in 
various  bright  colours,  with  their  fantastic  balconies,  gilded 
kiosks,  and  picturesque  towers,  their  yellow  groves  of  orange  and 
lemon,  their 

'  Myriads  of  rivulets  hurrying  through  the  lawn, ' 

were  charming  to  contemplate. 

These  pretty  abodes  were  interspersed  with  more  striking 
structures.  Here  and  there,  on  some  commanding  site,  arose  an 
imperial  palace,  coloured  in  pink  or  yellow,  more  curious  than 
imposing.  These  were  succeeded  by  other  objects  not  less  at 
tractive — mosques,  with  their  graceful  minarets  ;  Greek  or  Arme 
nian  chapels,  each  with  a  style  of  architecture  different  from  the 
rest.  All  the  way  from  Constantinople  to  the  Black  Sea  the 
shores  of  Asia  and  Europe  seemed  to  struggle  which  could  surpass 
the  other  in  picturesque  beauty.  Behind  this  diversified  line  ot 
dwellings  rose  a  dark  background  of  swelling  hills,  covered  with 
cypress  and  myrtle.  The  scenery  of  the  Bosphorus — there  is  no 
denying  it — was  more  novel,  varied,  and  beautiful  than  any  sight 
I  had  ever  met  But  fanciful  and  odd  as  is  the  view,  it  could 
only  be  enjoyed  by  the  passing  stranger.  To  live  in  Constanti 
nople,  with  its  dirt  and  monotony,  surrounded  by  indolent  Turks, 
and  cut  off  from  the  society  of  women,  would  be  paying  much 
too  dear  for  the  finest  sight  in  the  world,  as  enthusiastic  travellers 
describe  the  Bosphorus. 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

SMYRNA. 

THE  HELLESPONT — A  PHILOSOPHIC  TURK— A  COMICAL  INCIDENT — AN  EARTHLY 
PARADISE — A  SAD  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

AFTER  dinner  we  bade  a  grateful  adieu  to  the  captain  of  our 
steamer,  who  had  lodged  and  boarded  us  during  our  stay,  and 
positively  refused  all  compensation.  We  embarked  on  board 
the  *  Maria  Dorathea,'  whose  wheels  began  to  revolve  punctually 
at  five  P.M.,  as  announced.  As  we  steamed  into  the  Sea  of  Mar 
mora  I  cast  a  lingering,  but  by  no  means  sorrowful,  gaze  upon 
Constantinople,  with  its  600,000  inhabitants,  its  300  mosques,  its 
harems,  its  eunuchs,  and  very  devout  Turks,  never  desiring  to 
see  it  again  till  St.  Sophia  resounded  with  Hosannas  to  the  true 
Messiah. 

Whether  it  was  escaping  from  the  hideous  plague,  or  the 
comfort  and  elegance  of  our  steamer,  I  know  not,  but  I  had 
experienced  no  such  buoyancy  since  leaving  .Odessa.  Our  vessel 
was  built  in  Trieste  by  an  English  firm,  the  engines  were  English, 
so  were  the  captain  and  crew.  Wherever  I  went  I  found  the  Eng 
lish  in  possession  of  the  sea.  They  seem  the  favourite  heirs  of 
Neptune,  and  dominate  his  dominions.  Though  the  Austrian  flag 
was  flying  over  our  bark  in  token  of  ownership,  yet  its  naviga 
tion  was  confided  to  English  skill.  I  felt  no  uneasiness,  there 
fore,  when  I  woke  in  the  night,  to  find  a  tremendous  gale  had 
overtaken  us.  It  disappeared  before  morning,  and  we  had  a  fine 
day  to  make  our  observations.  The  most  interesting  event  on 
the  route  was  passing  through  the  slender  strait  of  the  Darda 
nelles,  called  in  ancient  times  the  Hellespont.  At  the  nearest 
point,  Asia  and  Europe  almost  touch  noses.  The  distance  be 
tween  Abydos  on  the  Asiatic  shore,  and  Sestos  on  the  European, 
is  barely  a  mile.  As  we  passed  through  this  narrow  passage  my 
mind  reverted  to  the  stirring  incidents  connected  with  it.  It  was 
here  that  Xerxes,  King  of  Persia,  crossed  on  a  bridge  of  boats, 
at  the  head  of  a  million  of  men,  480  B.C.,  to  overwhelm  defiant 


294  Smyrna. 


Greece.  Here,  too,  the  Greek  Leander  swam  nightly  over  to 
Abydos  to  renew  his  vows  to  his  beloved  Hero,  till  one  dark  night 
a  tempest  swallowed  him  : 

'  A  solitary  shriek,  the  bubbling  cry 
Of  some  strong  swimmer  in  his  agony.' 

Such  was  the  fate  of  the  devoted  Leander.  It  was  here,  too, 
in  more  recent  days,  the  poet  Byron,  as  if  to  prove  his  lame 
leg  was  yet  a  useful  member,  swam  across,  and  immortalised 
Abydos  in  an  imperishable  poem. 

There  was  only  one  other  passenger  on  board,  a  pleasant 
Italian  gentleman,  attached  to  the  Sardinian  Legation  at  Con 
stantinople.  He  was  full  of  vivacity,  and  we  spent  hours  in 
lively  conversation. 

Next  morning  we  anchored  off  the  town  of  Smyrna,  lying  at 
the  head  of  its  splendid  gulf,  with  a  lofty  hill  rising  immediately 
in  its  rear.  •  On  this  very  site,  town  after  town  had  succeeded 
since  one  thousand  years  before  our  era.  Wars,  earthquakes,  and 
fires  had  in  turn  destroyed  them.  The  survivor  of  them  all  was 
before  me,  and  it  still  figured  as  the  metropolis  of  Asia  Minor. 
We  lost  no  time  in  landing,  and  I  was  glad  enough  to  lodge  once 
more  on  terra  firma.  We  obtained  a  sitting-  and  two  bed-rooms 
in  a  tumble-down  wooden  house  sporting  the  name  of  the  Navy 
Hotel,  and  we  found  them  furnished  in  the  usual  Turkish  style, 
far  from  expensive 'or  elegant.  Our  windows  commanded  the 
gulf,  and  we  had  therefore  fresh  air  and  a  magnificent  view. 

We  soon  started  out  for  a  stroll,  and  I  discovered  that  I  had 
gained  little  by  change  of  residence.  The  lanes  and  alleys  of 
Smyrna  were  as  narrow  and  dirty  as  those  of  Constantinople,  and 
were  lined  by  the  same  wretched  structures  in  wood  that  dis 
figured  the  city  of  the  Sultans.  Both  Constantinople  and 
Smyrna  were  designed  by  Nature  as  sites  for  the  finest  cities 
of  the  world.  When  the  Greeks  and  Romans  held  them,  no 
doubt  they  were  so  ;  but  since  these  turbaned  sons  of  Mahomet 
came  into  possession  they  had  become  the  head-quarters  of 
pestilence  and  discomfort  of  every  variety.  A  pigsty  or  a 
palace,  it  is  all  the  same  thing  to  your  Turk.  Give  him  but  his 
animal  delights — his  chibouck  and  Circassian  slave — and  he 
will  sit  unmoved  while  centuries  revolve.  Byron  could  not  help 
exclaiming, 

'  O  Christ !  it  is  a  goodly  sight  to  see 
What  Heaven  hath  done  for  this  delicious  land.' 


Smyrna.  295 


But  Heaven's  gifts  have  been  thrown  away  on  the  impassible 
stagnant  Turk,  who  resembles  in  that  respect  not  a  little  our 
Indian  of  the  West.  The  advance  of  civilisation  will  dispose  of 
them  both. 

There  were  two  things,  however,  I  encountered  in  the  tho 
roughfares  of  Smyrna  that  were  both  novel  and  attractive.  I 
met  camels  in  every  direction  that  were  as  thick  as  donkeys  in 
Geneva.  They  were  the  pack-horses  and  parcel-carriers  of  the 
place,  and  did  the  chief  work  of  transportation.  *  They  gave  an 
Oriental  aspect  to  the  town,  reminding  me  I  was  still  in  Asia. 
Yet  a  far  greater  treat  was  to  meet  women  in  large  numbers, 
whose  faces  and  forms  were  not  enveloped  in  impenetrable 
muslin,  but  revealed  to  the  gaze  of  all.  And  such  faces,  and 
such  forms ! 

1  Heart  on  their  lips,  and  soul  within  their  eyes, 
Soft  as  their  clime,  and  sunny  as  their  skies.' 

These  were  Greeks,  the  original  inhabitants,  and  though  the 
Moslem  banner  had  waved  over  Smyrna  for  four  centuries,  the 
Greeks  still  kept  their  foothold.  Of  the  100,000  and  odd  popula 
tion,  the  Turks  barely  constituted  one-half.  Of  the  remainder, 
two-thirds  were  Greek  ;  the  other  was  made  up  of  Armenians  and 
Jews,  with  a  mixture  of  Europeans.  Partly  owing  to  climate, 
and  as  much  to  race,  the  Christian  women  of  Smyrna — nor  can  I 
exclude  the  Jewesses — were  certainly  the  most  beautiful  I  have 
ever  seen.  I  would  match  them  against  the  best  specimens  that 
Circassia  or  Georgia  could  produce.  I  fancy  the  sensual  Turk 
must  have  keenly  regretted  they  were  not  purchasable  commo 
dities. 

Before  returning  to  the  hotel,  I  hunted  up  the  American 
Consul,  Mr.  Offley,  to  whom  Commodore  Porter  had  given  me 
a  letter.  He  greeted  us  very  heartily,  and  I  was  completely  won 
by  his  genial  engaging  manners.  He  had  a  large  round  face, 
with  a  person  to  match,  and  seemed  the  impersonation  of  bon 
homie.  He  said  that  he  had  occupied  his  post  for  twenty  years, 
and  had  grown  so  accustomed  to  the  climate,  and  his  way  of  life, 
that  he  never  desired  to  leave  it.  Finding  that  our  stay  was  likely 
to  be  short,  he  said  we  must  come  and  dine  with  him  next  day 
at  his  villa  across  the  gulf,  where  the  Consular  Corps  and  many 
wealthy  merchants  retreated  for  the  summer  months. 

We  passed  two  or  three  hours  next  morning  wandering 
about  the  principal  Bazaar,  &  facsimile  &i  ft&k  of  Constantinople, 


296  Smyrna. 


though  on  a  smaller  scale.  Our  steps  were  constantly  dogged 
by  a  pack  of  half-starved  Jews,  who  urged  us  to  make  purchases 
in  the  hope  of  picking  up  a  crumb  in  the  shape  of  a  trifling  com 
mission. 

During  my  perambulations  I  was  caught  by  the  ingenuous 
face  of  a  handsome  Turk,  who  sat  smoking  on  his  stall,  with  his 
legs  coiled  under  him,  with  an  air  of  supreme  complacency.  He 
was  a  vendor  of  perfumes,  for  which  '  Araby  the  blest'  is  famous. 
It  was  pleasant*  to  stand  and  sniff  the  mingled  aromas  that  sur 
rounded  the  spot.  Jars  of  various  essences  and  boxes  of  spiced 
shrubs  emitted  a  fragrance  ravishing  to  the  nose.  As  we  ex 
amined  his  sweet-scented  wares,  I  glanced  occasionally  at  their 
owner,  whose  countenance  continued  serene  and  impassive. 
He  might  have  passed  for  a  statue,  so  perfect  was  the  repose  of 
his  features  and  attitude.  There  was  not  the  least  indication  of 
solicitude  as  to  our  intentions.  We-  would  buy  if  the  Prophet  so 
ordained.  We  purchased  some  ottar  of  roses  and  other  extracts, 
which  were  no  cheaper  than  in  Paris,  but  far  more  genuine. 

After  the  parcels  were  made  up,  I  felt  inclined  to  have  some 
chat  with  our  marchand.  Though  sedate  and  reticent,  as  all 
Turks  are,  yet  there  was  a  frankness  in  his  visage  that  was  en 
couraging  ;  and  so  I  bade  my  interpreter  to  ask  him  if  he  could 
be  tempted  to  leave  Smyrna,  and  go  to  my  country,  wl^ere  his 
rare  perfumes  would  yield  him  ten  times  the  profit  he  could  hope 
for  here.  At  the  end  of  a  few  years  he  might  return  to  the  East 
a  rich  man. 

A  look  of  undisguised  astonishment  overspread  his  face. 

*  What !'  he  exclaimed,  '  leave  the  land  of  the  Prophet,  to  go 
among  infidels  !  abandon  my  home,  to  accumulate  money  I  do 
not  want !  I  have  enough  to  eat  and  drink,  and  my  pipe  to 
smoke.  I  have  a  wife,  and,  please  Allah.  I  hope  some  day  to 
have  another.  What  more  have  I  to  desire  ?  I  am  satisfied.' 

This  sample  of  Turkish  philosophy  was  not  a  little  staggering. 

'But  tell  him,'  I  continued  to  the  interpreter,  'that  in  my 
country  he  would  be  under  the  protection  of  law,  where  no  cadi 
could  either  imprison  or  bowstring  him.  He  would  be  instructed, 
would  have  books  and  papers  to  read,  and  might  learn  what  was 
passing  in  the  world  ;  also,  in  that  happy  country  the  Padishah 
is  chosen  by  the  people  to  govern  them,  and  he  could  take  a 
share  in  his  election.'  . 

This  enticing  description  of  the  advantages  of  a  superior 


Smyrna.  297 


civilisation  were  all  thrown  away  on  the  incredulous,  if  not  con 
temptuous,  Turk. 

'  What  are  these  things  to  me  ?'  he  answered.  '  Would  they 
make  me  any  happier  ?  Could  I  eat  or  drink  more  in  your  country 
than  mine  ?  could  I  smoke  more  or  love  more  ?  My  fathers  have 
always  lived  in  this  holy  land.  Why  should  I  leave  it  till  Allah 
calls  me  away,  when  I  shall  go  to  Mahomet's  paradise,  where 
houris  innumerable  await  me  ?  Do  you  think  I  would  give  up 
this  to  go  to  your  unknown  world  ?' 

I  felt  that  it  was  idle  to  hold  out  intellectual  delights  or 
political  privileges  as  baits  to  this  true  son  of  the  Prophet,  whose 
faith  in  the  Koran  was  implicit — far  more  so  than  that  of  most 
Christians  in  their  Bible.  As  I  was  moving  off,  I  said,  with  a 
smile,  he  little  knew  what  he  lost  by  not  listening  to  my 
suggestion. 

Suddenly  a  thought  struck  him,  for,  taking  the  amber  mouth 
piece  from  his  lips,  he  inquired  if  women  were  cheaper  in  my 
country  than  in  Turkey. 

I  told  him  that  no  one  in  my  land  was  allowed  to  have  more 
than  one,  and  then  only  with  her  consent. 

This  settled  the  business.  A  scowl  of  unutterable  scorn 
darkened  his  fine  physiognomy,  and,  replacing  his  pipe,  he  raised 
his  eyes  to  heaven,  evidently  in  a  spirit  of  thankfulness  to 
Allah  that  it  had  not  been  his  cruel  fate  to  be  born  in  such  a  be 
nighted  land.  This  stupid  Turk  knew  of  no  other  happiness  than 
the  gratification  of  his  animal  cravings.  Neither  newspapers,  nor 
the  franchise,  nor  even  the  foreknowledge  of  an  eclipse  could  add 
to  his  beatification.  His  absolute  confidence  in  the  celestial  enjoy 
ments  reserved  for  him  was  enough  to  provoke  a  Christian's 
envy.  It  is  impossible  to  conceive  of  an  antithesis  more  complete 
than  between  a  Turk  and  an  American.  The  one  as  placid  as 
the  other  is  restless  ;  the  one  as  sensual  as  the  other  is  intellectual ; 
the  one  so  trusting,  the  other  so  incredulous  ;  the  one  so  stationary, 
the  other  so  progressive.  Which  is  the  happier  of  the  two  is  a 
problem  beyond  my  solution. 

Just  as  I  was  leaving  the  Bazaar  my  eye  was  arrested  by  a 
singular  rencontre  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street.  On  a  very 
narrow  path,  with  a  wall  on  one  side  and  a  sea  of  mud  on  the 
other,  stood  a  Turk  and  a  camel,  confronting  each  other.  To 
pass  was  impossible  ;  and  neither  liked  descending  into  the 
quagmire.  The  situation  amused  me,  and  I  lingered  to  see  the 


298  Smyrna. 


result.  Of  a  sudden  the  camel  made  a  dash,  and  sent  the  un 
fortunate  Turk  flying  up  to  his  waist  into  the  slough  ;  and,  as 
if  conscious  of  the  outrage,  galloped  swiftly  out  of  sight.  The 
incident  was  so  ludicrous  that  it  threw  me  into  convulsions  of 
laughter.  Forrest  roared  as  loudly  as  I  did.  Our  unruly  mirth 
seemed  to  scandalise  the  grave  Turks  of  the  Bazaar,  who  took 
their  pipes  from  their  mouths,  and  contemplated  us  with  won 
der.  It  was  a  long  time  since  I  had  had  such  a  hearty  guffaw. 

The  afternoon  was  lovely  when  we  set  off  at  three  o'clock 
in  Mr.  Offiey's  boat,  and,  crossing  the  bay,  found  horses  and  a 
guide  awaiting  us  on  the  opposite  shore.  We  rode  some  two 
or  three  miles  through  the  most  beautiful  scenery  imaginable. 
The  trees  and  plants,  the  fruits  and  flowers,  were  all  the  product 
of  a  tropical  clime.  The  graceful  palm,  the  flowery  myrtle,  the 
succulent  date  and  cocoa  trees,  abounded  on  all  sides.  Groves, 
almost  forests,  of  orange,  citron,  and  pomegranate ;  vast  or 
chards  of  olive  ;  whole  acres  of  vineyards  ;  flowers  of  brilliant 
hue,  broke  on  our  enchanted  view  at  every  turn.  The  air  was 
redolent  of  sweet  odours,  and  the  atmosphere  transparent  and 
balmy.  I  had  never  conceived  anything  on  earth  so  celestial, 
and  was  filled  with  ecstasy.  As  we  ambled  gently  onwards, 
I  recalled  the  pretty  lines  of  the  German  bard  : 

'  Know'st  thou  the  land  where  the  lemon-trees  bloom, 
Where  the  gold  orange  glows  in  the  deep  thicket's  gloom, 
Where  a  wind  ever  soft  from  the  blue  heaven  blows, 
And  the  groves  are  of  laurel  and  myrtle  and  rose  ?' 

The  house  of  our  Consul  was  in  keeping  with  this  bewitch 
ing  spot.  It  was  a  graceful  and  commodious  residence,  and  sur 
rounded  by  gardens  filled  with  flowers  of  rarest  fragrance  and 
fruits  of  every  description.  His  wife  was  a  Greek  lady,  very 
handsome,  and  of  winning  address.  The  dinner  was  luxurious, 
for  our  host  was  evidently  given  to  the  good  things  of  life.  He 
was  full  of  animation,  and  entertained  us  with  a  fund  of  anec 
dote.  I  left  the  table  for  a  turn  in  the  gardens,  where  Mr. 
Offley's  children  were  romping  about  in  high  glee.  I  met  here 
a  niece  of  Mrs.  OfBey's,  only  sixteen,  but  already  a  full-grown 
woman.  I  was  transfixed  by  her  beauty.  Phidias  could  not 
have  lent  a  charm  to  her  features,  cast  in  the  purest  Grecian 
mould  ;  and  her  complexion  would  have  abashed  Apelles,  so 
exquisite  were  its  tints.  But  who  can  paint  like  Nature  ?  More 
fascinating  still  was  her  childlike  simplicity,  her  fawnlike  grace, 


Smyrna.  299 


her  sensitive  downcast  modesty.  I  fell  into  conversation  with 
her  in  French,  and  I  was  struck  by  her  utter  ignorance  of  the 
world.  A  nymph  of  these  lovely  glades,  she  knew  nothing  of 
men  or  women.  Mankind  was  a  sealed  book  to  her.  She  had 
no  knowledge  or  illusions,  no  hopes  or  fears,  of  the  world  with 
out.  She  supposed  that  all  was  as  fair,  as  calm,  as  the  pathless 
groves  and  lonely  dells  where  she  had  budded.  In  truth,  she 
was 

'  Beautiful  as  sweet ; 

And  young  as  beautiful ;  and  soft  as  young ; 
And  gay  as  soft;  and  innocent  as  gay.' 

I  count  this  day,  with  its  varied  sensations,  as  one  of  the 
most  entrancing  of  my  travels.  The  wonderful  scenery  baffling 
all  description  ;  the  joyous  reception  of  my  genial  hosts  ;  and, 
more  intoxicating  still,  the  angelic  creature,  that  seemed 
rather  to  belong  to  Eden  than  the  garden  where  1  found  her, — 
all  these  scenes  and  sights,  and  emotions  begot  of  them,  recurred 
to  me  as  I  was  wafted  by  gentle  zephyrs  homewards  across  the 
limpid  surface  of  the  bay,  reflecting  the  countless  stars  of  this 
Eastern  sky,  and  impelled  me  to  exclaim  in  the  words  of  Moore  * 

1  And,  O,  if  there  be  an  elysium  on  earth, 
It  is  this,  it  is  this  !' 

The  next  day,  to  our  infinite  delight,  a  duck  of  a  steamer — 
English  of  course — arrived  at  Smyrna,  and  offered  us,  as  we 
hoped,  an  opportunity  of  running  down  the  coast  to  Jerusalem, 
and  landing  at  Alexandria,  for  our  intended  tour  in  Egypt.  Up 
to  this  moment  we  could  find  no  means  of  reaching  the  pro 
mised  land  but  a  small  Greek  sailing-vessel,  both  incommodious 
and  foul,  in  which  we  might  be  buffeted  about  for  weeks,  if  we 
met  with  no  worse  treatment.  There  were  ugly  stories  current 
of  travellers  never  being  heard  of  again  who  trusted  themselves 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  lawless  men  who  usually  commanded 
these  cutthroat-looking  craft.  It  was  a  boon  indeed  to  escape 
from  such  startling  contingencies,  and  we  gladly  betook  ourselves 
aboard  the  spruce  little  '  Levant,'  to  engage  our  passages  for  the 
destination  in  view.  What  was  our  chagrin  when  we  heard  the 
captain  declare  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to  make  the 
tour  we  proposed  !  He  had  just  come  from  those  very  places, 
he  said,  and  what  with  quarantines,  dirt,  disease,  and  endless 
annoyances,  he  had  '  supped  full  of  horrors,'  and  return  to  them 
he  would  not.  Both  Forrest  and  myself  did  our  best  to  over- 


300  Smyrna. 


come  his  scruples,  and  plied  him  briskly  with  golden  arguments. 
We  offered  him  at  last  3000  dollars  to  make  the  trip  suggested, 
but  money  and  entreaties  both  failed. 

Finding  he  meant  to  start  next  day  for  the  Piraeus,  the  sea 
port  of  Athens,  we  decided,  in  the  face  of  so  many  difficulties, 
to  abandon  our  Egyptian  campaign,  and  cross  over  to  Greece. 
The  limited  attractions  of  Smyrna  we  had  quite  exhausted,  and 
the  only  grateful  duty  left  was  to  call  on  Mr.  Offley  and  thank 
him  for  his  hearty  hospitality,  assuring  him  that  I  never  should 
forget  my  visit  to  his  fairy-like  abode. 

We  were  off  next  morning,  and  I  turned  my  back  on  the 
East  without  a  sigh.  It  impressed  me  as  a  world  in  rapid 
decadence,  as  clashing  with  the  epoch  in  which  it  lingered.  In 
contrast  to  Europe,  with  its  enlightened  civilisation,  its  mate 
rial  and  moral  agencies,  its  triumphs  in  science,  literature,  and 
art,  all  was  '  stale,  flat,  and  unprofitable.'  The  fancy  of  poets 
and  the  florid  descriptions  of  travellers  have  thrown  a  spell  over 
the  Orient  that  vanished  when  approached.  Even  what  was 
picturesque  and  strange  was  fast  disappearing,  and  naught  but 
the  lees  remained. 

I  was  delighted  with  our  little  steamer,  which  was  admirably 
fitted  up.  The  cleanliness  and  comfort  were  captivating  after 
my  late  experience.  It  was  like  stepping  from  the  shores  of 
Asia  into  a  first-class  English  inn,  with  its  neatness  and  civility. 
There  was  but  a  single  passenger  on  board,  who  turned  out  a 
very  agreeable  person — a  Captain  Johnson,  of  the  East  India 
army. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

ATHENS. 

CLASSICAL  REMINISCENCES — BRIGHT  ANTICIPATIONS — MOURNFUL  REALITIES — 
AN  AMERICAN  REGENERATOR — AN  UNFORESEEN  OBSTACLE. 

OUR  trip  across  the  Archipelago  was  full  of  interest  We  were 
almost  constantly  in  sight  of  some  of  the  numerous  and  beau 
tiful  islands  that  give  such  celebrity  to  the  eastern  end  of  the 
Mediterranean.  It  would  have  been  a  great  delight  to  have 
stopped  at  some  of  them  directly  on  our  route  ;  but,  coming 
from  the  infected  coast  of  Asia  Minor,  we  should  not  have  been 
allowed  to  land,  and  so  we  kept  o'n  our  course  for  the  Piraeus, 
which  we  reached  on  the  third  day. 

I  felt  no  dread  of  the  inevitable  quarantine  that  awaited  us, 
for  I  was  so  comfortable  and  happy  on  board  the  '  Levant'  that 
I  resigned  myself  cheerfully  to  whatever  penance  might  be 
decreed.  To  say  nothing  of  the  material  delights  of  a  good 
table  and  excellent  beds,  there  was  a  well-assorted  library  at 
my  command.  An  additional  resource  was  the  instructive  con 
versation  of  Captain  Johnson,  who  was  full  of  erudition.  These 
East  Indian  officers,  I  found,  were  little  else  than  travelling 
bookcases,  as  their  tranquil  life  in  Hindostan  enabled  them  to 
accumulate  vast  stores  of  knowledge.  The  weather  was  hea 
venly,  and  the  health  of  our  locality  above  suspicion.  I  lounged 
about  the  deck  all  day,  smoking  narghiles,  reading  and  talking 
by  turns,  and  secretly  hoping  our  imprisonment  might  not  ter 
minate  prematurely.  Free  from  all  care,  and  with  nothing  to 
do  but  what  was  agreeable,  I  comprehended  for  the  first  time 
the  significance  of  the  Italian  phrase,  dolce  far  niente,  another 
expression  for  a  Turk's  notion  of  paradise. 

Lying  off  the  shores  of  Greece,  it  was  natural  that  my 
classical  reminiscences  should  be  roused  from  their  long  sleep 
of  years.  The  very  harbour  in  which  the  '  Levant'  was  reposing 
was  fortified  by  Themistocles  some  five  hundred  years  before 
Christ,  whilst  the  hallowed  soil  of  Athens  was  only  four  miles 


302  Athens. 


away.  By  degrees  the  men  and  events  of  its  day  of  renown 
began  to  possess  my  mind,  and  the  school-lore  of  my  youth, 
which  I  thought  had  perished,  revived  with  a  freshness  and 
fulness  that  proved  how  strong  and  durable  were  first  impres 
sions.  Little  did  I  dream  that  the  tasks  that  used  to  weary  me 
would  one  day  yield  such  satisfactory  returns.  The  more  I 
recalled,  the  more  I  read,  and  the  more  I  reflected,  the  deeper 
grew  my  astonishment  at  the  originality  and  vastness  of  the 
intellect  of  ancient  Greece.  I  discussed  the  topic  with  Captain 
Johnson,  whose  views  fortified  my  own.  We  both  agreed  that 
the  development  of  the  human  mind  began  in  Greece.  Till 
then  Asia  and  Egypt,  already  centuries  old,  had  wallowed  in 
ignorance,  scarce  emitting  a  single  spark  of  knowledge  of  any 
kind.  What  little  the  priesthood  of  those  countries  knew,  if 
anything,  they  kept  to  themselves. 

It  almost  seemed  to  both  of  us  that  at  this  juncture  of  the 
world's  history  Providence  had  ordained  a  new  movement  in 
human  progress,  and  that  the  Greeks  had  been  endowed  with  a 
creative  fertility  of  brain  to  carry  out  the  civilising  mission  for 
which  they  had  been  selected.  So  amazing  was  the  quantity 
and  variety  of  knowledge  brought  into  existence  by  this  chosen 
people  that  it  could  hardly  be  regarded  in  any  other  light  than 
a  miracle.  Before  this  no  such  things  were  known  as  philosophy, 
politics,  literature,  science,  and  art.  But  let  me  record  facts, 
however  briefly,  and  let  craniums  better  furnished  than  mine 
controvert  or  correct  them. 

Politics,  or  the  laws  which  regulate  the  relations  of  society, 
were  systematised  by  Lycurgus,  884  B.C.,  and  by  Solon,  593  B.C., 
whose  constitutions,  the  first  ever  written,  gave  to  Sparta  and 
Athens  order  and  prosperity. 

Literature  in  all  its  phases  was  created  and  developed. 
First,  history,  of  whom  Herodotus  was  called  the  *  father.'  He 
was  succeeded  by  Thucydides,  Xenophon,  and  Polybius.  All  of 
these  were  remarkable  for  elegance  of  style,  erudition,  and  im 
partiality.  Next  came  the  drama.  Thespis  was  its  parent, 
540  B.C.  After  writing  some  plays  he  began  acting,  and  tra 
velled  over  Attica  with  a  band  of  players,  who  coloured  their 
faces  with  the  lees  of  wine.  ^Eschylus  followed  with  dramas  of 
a  higher  class,  and  is  usually  regarded  as  the  *  father'  of  Greek 
tragedy.  He  introduced  a  regular  theatre,  with  scenery,  costumes, 
and  music,  in  the  fifth  century  B.C.  Sophocles  succeeded,  and 


Athens.  303 


was  the  author  of  some  120  plays.  Euripides  was  his  rival,  and 
far  excelled  him  in  pathos  and  the  delineation  of  the  passions. 
He  wrote  some  84  tragedies.  A  contemporary  of  the  latter  was 
Aristophanes,  styled  the  *  father'  of  comedy.  He  was  celebrated 
for  his  sarcastic  wit,  and  wrote  some  54  pieces.  Menander,  who 
appeared  near  a  century  later,  was  christened  the  'Prince  of  the 
New  Comedy.'  He  eschewed  the  personalities  of  Aristophanes, 
and  satirised  the  follies  and  vices  of  his  times.  He  composed 
over  100  plays.  There  were  also  numerous  writers  of  farces, 
and  even  burlesques.  Poets  of  the  highest  order,  as  Theocrites 
and  Menippus,  flourished  in  various  parts  of  Greece.  Nor  should 
yEsop  and  his  fables  be  forgotten. 

Science  had  many  votaries.  Thales  and  Anaxoras  were 
skilful  astronomers,  and  foretold  eclipses  in  the  fifth  and  sixth 
centuries  B.C.  Anaximander,  at  the  same  period,  declared  the 
earth  was  round,  that  the  moon  was  lighted  by  the  sun,  drew 
geographical  maps,  and  invented  sundials.  Pythagoras,  in  the 
sixth  century  B.C.,  was  renowned  in  mathematics.  Two  centuries 
later,  Euclid  excelled  in  geometry.  He  opened  .a  school  in 
Alexandria,  and  one  of  the  Ptolemys  was  a  disciple.  The 
king,  it  is  related,  asked  if  there  was  not  some  easy  way  to  solve 
his  propositions.  Euclid  replied,  'There  is  no  royal  road  in 
mathematics.' 

In  medicine,  Hippocrates  was  the  first  (fifth  century  B.C.) 
to  raise  medicine  from  mere  empiricism  to  a  science.  He 
observed  the  symptoms  of  diseases,  prescribed  the  simplest 
remedies,  and  said  the  physician  should  only  follow  and  imitate 
Nature.  He  insisted  on  the  vital  importance  of  diet.  To  arrest 
the  plague  at  Athens  he  suggested  large  bonfires  all  over  the 
city — just  as  it  was  stopped,  many  centuries  later,  in  London  by 
the  accidental  conflagration  in  the  time  of  Charles  II.  Many 
writers  on  anatomy  and  physiology  succeeded. 

In  the  fine  arts  the  Greeks  revealed  a  world  of  beauty,  grace, 
and  expression  never  previously  known,  and  established  rules 
never  superseded  since.  In  architecture  they  invented  the  three 
orders — the  Doric,  Ionic,  and  Corinthian — recognised  to  this  day. 
Before  then  the  buildings  and  monuments  of  Asia  and  Egypt 
were  striking  for  solidity,  but  were  inferior  in  elegance  and  har 
monious  proportion.  In  sculpture  the  Greeks  have  never  been 
surpassed.  Phidias  and  Praxiteles  carried  the  art  to  its  highest 
perfection.  Their  statues  were  said  '  to  walk,  see,  and  talk,'  so 


304  Athens. 


full  were  they  of  life  and  power.  In  painting  the  Greeks  were 
the  first  to  invent  drawing,  light  and  shade,  and  colour.  In  the 
fifth  century  B.C.,  Zeuxis  was  a  great  master  of  colour,  and 
excelled  in  the  '  divine  beauty'  of  his  figures.  He  became  so 
rich  that  he  refused  at  last  to  sell  his  pictures,  but  gave  them 
away.  A  little  later  Parrhasius  rose  to  distinction.  He  was 
sometimes  reproached  with  sacrificing  the  moral  expression  to 
material  illusion.  The  Roman  Emperor  Tiberius  paid  for  one 
of  his  pictures,  then  very  old,  600,000  sesterces,  near  24,000 
dollars.  Polygnotus,  at  a  later  period,  is  said  to  have  painted 
the  first  portrait.  He  was  especially  celebrated  in  fresco-paint 
ing.  Doubtless  the  most  renowned  painter  of  Greece  was 
Apelles.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  admitting  the  public  to  exa 
mine  his  pictures,  whilst  he  was  concealed  behind  a  curtain  to 
hear  their  criticisms.  One  day  a  shoemaker  praised  the  execu 
tion  of  a  sandal,  and  was  proceeding  to  comment  on  the  rest  of 
the  work,  when  Apelles  presented  himself,  and  used  the  expres 
sion,  so  familiar  to  this  day,  '  Let  the  shoemaker  stick  to  his 
last;'  that. is,  give  his  opinion  on  shoes  only.  He  executed  a 
portrait  of  Campaspe,  the  mistress  of  Alexander  the  Great,  and 
became  so  desperately  enamoured  that  the  monarch,  who  was 
very  fond  of  him,  gave  her  up  to  Apelles,  who  married  her.  He 
left  a  painting  unfinished — a  Sleeping  Venus — and  no  other 
artist  ventured  to  touch  it.  The  Greeks  were  also  famous  for 
their  skill  in  carving  on  metal,  and  for  their  proficiency  in  all 
kinds  of  jewelry.  The  specimens  found  of  late  years  corro 
borate  this. 

I  have  mentioned  but  a  tithe  of  their  great  men  in  every 
sphere  of  intellectual  effort,  but  enough  to  attest  the  rare  genius 
of  this  wonderful  people.  No  previous  nation  left  such  proofs 
of  originality,  and  no  succeeding  one  has  outstripped  them. 
The  Romans,  who  followed  them,  were  mere  copyists,  and  far 
inferior  in  intellect,  and  especially  in  art.  An  amusing  instance 
of  the  latter  is  shown  by  the  remark  of  Mummius,  the  Roman 
general  who  conquered  Greece,  146  B.C.  He  ordered  a  great 
number  of  statues,  vases,  and  pictures  to  be  transported  to  Rome, 
but  was  so  ignorant  of  their  intrinsic  merit  that  he  declared,  '  if 
any  were  lost,  they  must  be  replaced  at  the  expense  of  the  person 
who  was  culpable/  He  supposed  a  statue  of  Phidias  or  a  paint 
ing  of  Apelles  could  be  reproduced  ! 

Of  Greek  statuary  we  can  judge  by  the  specimens  that  sur- 


Athens.  305 


vive  ;  but  their  paintings  have  long  since  perished,  and  we  must 
accept  the  lavish  praise  of  Cicero  and  Pliny  as  a  criterion  of 
their  worth. 

With  the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire,  in  the  fifth  century  A.D., 
the  letters,  science,  and  arts  of  Greece  disappeared  from  view. 
It  was  not  till  the  fifteenth  century  that  the  Greeks,  wha  were 
driven  out  of  Constantinople  by  Mahomet  II.,  took  refuge  in 
Italy,  and  there  inaugurated  the  period  known  as  the  Renaissance 
— the  resurrection  of  letters  and  arts.  From  thence  the  revival 
spread  gradually  over  Europe.  How  strange  that  the  Greeks 
of  old  should  have  brought  art  and  learning  into  the  world,  and 
when,  buried  in  the  depths  of  the  dark  ages  for  centuries,  it  should 
be  the  Greeks  again  to  disinter  and  restore  them  once  more  to 
life  !  Who  can  help  hoping  that  a  people  who  have  been  twice 
chosen  for  the  mission  of  dispensing  the  blessings  of  a  refined 
civilisation  on  mankind  should  live  to  recover  their  former 
greatness  ? 

So  absorbed  had  I  become  in  these  interesting  investiga 
tions  that  I  failed  to  observe  the  gradual  waning  away  of  our 
quarantine.  Captain  Johnson  was  equally  engrossed,  and  took 
infinite  pains  to  justify  my  theory,  that  the  intellectual  birth 
of  the  world  occurred  in  ancient  Greece.  He  assisted  me  in 
hunting  up  dates,  and  in  summoning  from  the  depths  of  twenty 
centuries  the  great  phantoms  of  the  past. 

What  a  prodigious  amount  of  genius/  I  said  to  him  one  day, 
have  we  disinterred  in  this  petty  territory  of  old  Greece  !  And 
yet  have  overlooked  the  mightiest  of  them  all :  those  three 
great  thinkers  who  ascended  to  altitudes  where  the  human  mind 
had  never  soared,  and  whose  writings  for  centuries  constituted 
the  limit  of  all  knowledge.' 

'  Of  course/  he  replied,  '  you  refer  to  Socrates,  Plato,  and 
Aristotle,  who  laid  down  principles  in  morals,  metaphysics,  and 
philosophy  that  have  never  been  confuted.  It  is  chiefly  in  the 
domain  of  physical  science  that  the  modern  world  has  broken 
new  ground.' 

1  Very  true/  I  answered  ;  '  and  the  best  proof  of  the  superiority 
of  these  great  intellects  is  the  veneration  that  has  followed  them 
through  centuries.  Their  names  and  doctrines  are  as  fresh  and 
familiar  as  though  they  had  lived  in  our  era.  Socrates  is  still 
quoted  as  the  model  of  an  upright  man,  one  who  practised 
what  he  preached.  His  definitions  of  the  virtues  have  never 

X 


306  Athens. 


been  discarded,  and  the  corner-stone  of  his  moral  code,  that 
"happiness  could  only  be  attained  by  doing  good,"  is  still  un 
disturbed.  The  purity  of  his  life  and  teachings  was  a  standing 
rebuke  to  the  designing  men  of  his  day,  who  consequently  con 
trived  his  death.' 

1  Whilst  I  admit,5  observed  the  Captain, '  that  Socrates  was 
the  most  perfect  of  men,  yet  I  consider  his  disciple  Plato  sur 
passed  him  in  capacity.  His  investigations  of  the  human  mind 
and  its  laws  entitle  him  to  the  appellation  of  the  father  of 
metaphysics.  He  declared  that  there  was  nothing  real  and  om 
nipotent  in  the  world  but  ideas  ;  and  that  these  constituted  the 
foundation  of  art,  of  morals,  and  of  government.  That  in  art 
the  ideal  of  the  beautiful  must  be  sought  ;  in  morals,  the  ideal 
of  good,  which  is  God,  should  be  our  guide  ;  and  in  government, 
the  ideal  was  the  enforcement  of  reason  and  justice.  His  cele 
brated  book,  the  Ideal  Republic,  though  vague  in  some  of  its 
theories,  is  a  prodigy  for  its  lofty  conceptions,  sound  morals,  and 
grandeur  of  style.' 

'  Plato's  speculations,'  I  continued,  '  were  too  abstract  to 
make  him  always  intelligible.  It  is  strange  that  the  most  re 
nowned  of  his  followers,  Aristotle,  should  have  rejected  his 
dicta,  and  asserted  that  knowledge  should  be  based  on  facts 
rather  than  ideas,  while  true  philosophy  was  the  science  of  cause 
and  effect.  According  to  his  system,  the  beautiful  in  art  was 
only  to  be  found  in  the  imitation  of  Nature  ;  that  in  morals,  vir 
tue  was  the  result  of  an  equilibrium  of  the  passions ;  whilst  in 
politics,  the  real  aim  of  government  should  be  utility.  In  variety 
and  extent  of  learning  Aristotle  surpassed  all  his  predecessors, 
and  down  to  our  day  his  authority  is  rarely  contested.  Philip 
of  Macedon  paid  a  tribute  to  his  stupendous  intellect  when  he 
declared,  "  he  was  not  so  proud  of  having  a  son  as  he  was  ot 
having  Aristotle  for  his  tutor."  It  is  truly  phenomenal  that 
master-minds  like  these  should  have  appeared  for  the  first  time 
in  Greece  nearly  four  centuries  before  the  Christian  era.  It  is 
equally  so  that  each  of  these  profound  speculators  believed  in 
the  progress  of  mankind,  but  from  dread  of  martyrdom  were 
forced  to  discuss  the  moral  perfections  of  man  rather  than  point 
to  his  political  elevation.' 

This  was  the  substance  of  my  last  palaver  with  Captain 
Johnson  on  our  joint  creed  that  humanity  in  general,  and  Europe 
in  particular,  owed  all  they  knew — save  in  physical  science — to 


Athens.  307 


the  intellect  of  ancient  Greece  ;  and  we  voted  unanimously  that 
they  would  be  the  vilest  of  ingrates  if  they  hesitated  to  acknow 
ledge  the  fact. 

During  the  pleasant  interval  of  my  detention  on  board  the 
'  Levant'  I  gave  myself  up  entirely  to  the  congenial  society  of 
my  East  Indian  friend,  and  we  did  nothing  but  compare  notes 
and  exchange  opinions  on  the  classical  topic  we  had  taken  in 
hand.  Meanwhile,  Forrest  avoided  us  both  with  undisguised  horror, 
regarding  our  enthusiasm  for  the  ancient  Greeks  as  childish,  if 
not  downright  affectation.  He  had  taken  a  great  liking  to  our 
Captain,  an  intelligent  and  agreeable  man,  and,  when  not  read 
ing  or  sleeping,  used  to  lavish  on  the  unsuspecting  tar  the 
choicest  quotations  from  his  favourite  rdles,  and  occasionally 
electrify  him  by  some  of  his  best  American  stories. 

On  the  fifth  morning  our  liberation  was  proclaimed,  and  we 
(  Curried  on  shore  to  mount  horses  in  readiness  to  convey  us  to 
.Athens. 

My  mind  had  become  so  thoroughly  imbued  with  the  men 
and  events  of  the  palmy  days  of  Greece,  that  I  almost  expected 
to  find  the  demigods  I  had  so  recently  conjured  to  life  walking 
about  the  streets  of  their  lovely  capital,  frequenting  their  solemn 
temples  of  pure  Pentelicon,  or  delivering  discourses  to  a  spell 
bound  crowd.  I  scarcely  noticed,  in  the  midst  of  my  hallucina 
tions,  the  desolate  country  I  was  traversing  ;  naught .  to  break 
the  monotony  save  straggling  orchards  of  the  silvery  olive,  and 
a  series  of  unsightly  habitations.  As  I  approached  the  city, 
my  eye  fell  upon  the  Acropolis,  once  the  proud  citadel  which 
threw  its  protecting  shadow  over  the  metropolis  of  Attica. 
Full  of  enthusiasm,  I  galloped  into  the  town,  and  fearful  was 
the  disenchantment  that  followed.  ~  I  rode  through  narrow 
dirty  streets,  bordered  by  rows  of  mean  and  shabby  hovels  that 
it  would  have  been  flattery  to  dignify  by  the  name  of  houses. 
Here  and  there  building  was  going  on,  and  a  better  style  of 
structure  was  superseding  the  wretched  abodes  that  met  my 
gaze  in  every  direction.  It  seemed  as  though  a  destructive  con 
flagration  had  recently  swept  over  the  place,  or  that  an  earth 
quake  had  overthrown  it,  and  that  the  unfortunate  inhabitants 
had  hurriedly  constructed  these  paltry  tenements,  to  protect 
them  against  the  weather.  This,  then,  was  Athens,  such  as  the 
Turks,  after  an  occupation  of  over  two  centuries,  had  left  it. 
They  found  it  a  city  of  marble,  and  transformed  it  into  one  of 


308  Athens. 


mud  and  straw.  It  was  a  piteous  sight,  and  I  could  not  but 
sigh  over  her  fallen  greatness.  If  the  spirits  of  her  departed 
worthies,  if  Pericles  the  magnificent,  and  Phidias  his  inspired 
contemporary,  who  had  lavished  such  treasure  and  genius  on  the 
adornment  of  their  adored  Athens,  had  ever  looked  down  on 
her  degradation,  it  must  have  been  a  punishment  worse  even 
than  the  Furies  could  have  devised.  As  I  wound  my  devious 
way  through  filthy  alleys  and  over  heaps  of  refuse,  the  wail  of 
Byron  was  constantly  ringing  in  my  ears  : 

c  Shrine  of  the  mighty  !  can  it  be 
That  this  is  all  remains  of  thee  ?' 

At  length  we  reached  the  Royal  Hotel,  the  only  one  here 
abouts,  and  it  contrasted  ludicrously  with  its  sounding  name — 
a  wooden  mansion  of  recent  date,  with  accommodation  of  the 
most  meagre  description.  Contenting  ourselves  with  a  couple  of 
bedrooms,  and  ordering  the  best  the  house  could  afford  for 
dinner  later  in  the  day,  we  strode  off  at  once  for  the  Acropolis. 
As  I  toiled  up  the  difficult  ascent  on  which  is  posted  this  famous 
stronghold,  I  thought  of  its  great  antiquity.  Its  walls  were  first 
erected  1000  years  B.C.,  but  had  often  been  restored.  Within 
its  enclosure,  at  different  periods,  were  constructed  various 
temples,  whose  fame  has  spread  over  the  world.  The  most 
celebrated  of  these  was  the  Parthenon,  built  by  Pisistratus  in 
the  sixth  century  B.C. ;  then  nearly  destroyed  by  the  Persians, 
but  restored  on  a  grander  scale  by  Pericles  a  century  later.  It 
was  dedicated  to  Minerva — Parthenos,  the  Virgin  ;  hence  its 
name.  It  was  a  Doric  edifice,  surrounded  by  columns,  eight  at 
either  end  and  seventeen  on  the  sides,  and  all  of  Pentelicon 
marble,  a  quarry  near  Athens.  It  was  designed  by  Phidias,  who 
embellished  its  frieze  with^exquisite  sculpture,  and  added  to  its 
attractions  a  statue  of  Minerva  in  ivory  and  gold,  considered  his 
masterpiece. 

This  noble  relic  of  Grecian  art,  at  one  period  converted  into 
a  Christian  church,  and  afterwards  into  a  Turkish  mosque,  sur 
vived  almost  intact  down  to  1676;  but  it  was  sadly  damaged  by 
the  Venetians,  who  bombarded  Athens  in  1687.  It  suffered  still 
further  detriment  in  the  fierce  struggles  between  the  Greeks  and 
Turks  for  the  possession  of  the  Acropolis.  In  1822  the  natives 
captured  it,  and,  after  holding  it  for  five  years,  were  driven  out  by 
the  Turks  in  1827.  I  hastened  my  steps,  so  eager  was  I  to  con 
template  it.  The  Parthenon  owed  its  renown  not  merely  to  its 


Athens.  309 


beauty  and  its  antiquity,  but  more  still  to  the  fact  that  for  over 
two  thousand  years  it  had  inspired  the  architecture  of  the  world. 
Rome,  the  Middle  Ages,  and  modern  times  had  copied,  but  none 
surpassed,  this  model  of  perfect  proportion.  The  Madeleine  and 
Bourse  at  Paris  are  among  the  latest  imitations,  though  of  a  more 
florid  order. 

On  reaching  the  summit  of  the  Acropolis  we  found  its  chief 
entrance  guarded  by  a  Bavarian  sentinel,  .who  admitted  us  on  the 
payment  of  a  fee,  appropriated  to  the  restoration  of  the  temples. 
What  a  scene  of  sacrilegious  ruin  met  my  gaze  on  stepping  within 
the  gate  !  Prostrate  columns,  mutilated  statues,  bas-reliefs  of  rare 
beauty  defaced,  capitals,  friezes,  cornices  ruthlessly  scattered 
about  and  marred.  Such  was  the  deplorable  condition  of  these 
precious  remains.  The  hand  of  the  despoiler  had  done  much, 
but  that  of  the  plunderer  had  aggravated  the  wreck.  Some  of 
the  most  perfect  relics  had  been  carried  off  and  sold.  Not  a 
few  of  them  have  found  their  way  to  the  British  Museum,  though 
it  must  be  said  in  extenuation  that  the  Turks,  utterly  insensible 
to  the  desecration,  allowed  whoever  pleased  to  cart  away  the 
'marble  rubbish.'  The  Greeks,  having  come  once  more  by  their 
own,  now  watch  piously  over  these  venerated  memorials.  It  was 
like  walking  over  a  battle-field  with  the  ground  strewn  with 
marble  carcasses,  their  stony  limbs  lying  about  in  fragments,  and 
blanching  in  the  sultry  sunlight.  Of  the  superb  Parthenon,  but 
twenty  columns,  with  their  architraves,  still  lifted  their  heads  to 
the  sky,  and  some  portions  of  the  walls  yet  stood  defying  man 
and  Nature.  I  sat  me  down  on  a  broken  pillar,  as  Marius  of  old, 
and  brooded  for  a  time  in  silence  over  this  melancholy  scene. 

At  length  I  rose,  followed  my  guide,  a  learned  antiquary,  and 
up  to  his  eyes  in  ancient  Athens  and  its  imperishable  souvenirs. 
As  we  walked  round  the  Acropolis  he  began  pointing  out  objects 
he  thought  would  interest  me. 

'  There/  he  said,  raising  his  finger,  '  is  the  prison  of  Socrates, 
the  very  cell  where  he  drank  the  hemlock,  400  B.C.' 

'  What!'  I  exclaimed,  *  was  it  there  that  he  discoursed  so  tran 
quilly  in  his  last  moments  on  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  died 
declaring  there  was  but  one  God  ?.' 

'  And  there,'  continued  the  guide,  '  is  Mars  Hill,  where  the 
Areopagus  used  to  assemble.' 

'  That  tribunal,'  I  responded,  '  so  famous  for  its  impartiality, 
that  it  would  allow  no  rhetoric  to  be  uttered  that  could  bias  or 


310  Athens. 


disturb  its  judgment.  And  was  it  on  that  spot,'  I  asked, '  that 
St.  Paul  in  the  middle  of  the  first  century  addressed  these  pagan 
judges,  and  boldly  proclaimed  the  truths  of  the  new  Gospel  ?' 

'The  very  place,'  he  answered.  Crossing  over  to  another  point, 
he  remarked,  '  There,  where  you  see  a  clump  of  olive-trees,  was 
the  site  of  the  Academy,  founded  by  Plato  in  388  B.C.' 

'  Was  it  really  there,'  I  replied,  my  eyes  rooted  to  the  spot, '  that 
the  "  Homer  of  Philosophy"  pronounced  his  sublime  discourses  ?' 

'And  there,'  continued  my  escort,  'is  the  position  of  the 
promenade,  ihzperipatos,  where  Aristotle,  the  master  of  them  all, 
founded  his  Lyceum  in  331  B.C.' 

'  I  agree  with  you,'  I  remarked, '  that  Aristotle  was  the  giant 
that  towered  above  them  all.' 

'  Before  we  descend,'  continued  my  cicerone,  '  look  over  at 
yonder  slope,  for  it  was  there  the  people  assembled  to  listen  to 
their  orators  on  the  topics  of  the  day.  It  was  there  that  Demos 
thenes  hurled  his  invectives  against  Philip  of  Macedon,  and  drove 
Athens  to  take  up  arms  against  him.' 

'Strange,'  I  observed,  as  I  gazed  on  the  Pnyx,  'that  Demos 
thenes,  like  so  many  great  orators,  should  have  failed  in  his  first 
efforts,  and  yet,  before  he  was  thirty,  achieved  a  reputation  which 
is  deathless.  His  rivals  used  to  say  his  orations  "  smelt  of  the 
lamp,"  which  was  only  a  proof  of  the  care  he  bestowed  on  his 
fiery  philippics.' 

Long  before  I  had  exhausted  my  inspection  of  these  thrilling 
localities  my  friend  Forrest  had  gone  off,  quite  out  of  humour 
with  what  he  considered  my  exaggerated  reverence  for  ancient 
Greece  and  its  paragons. 

The  captain  of  the  'Levant'  dined  with  us  the  same  evening, 
and  we  were  obliged  to  apologise  for  the  scanty  entertainment 
furnished  by  the  Royal  Hotel.  Its  larder  was  miserably  pro 
vided,  and  seemed  to  contain  neither  '  fish,  flesh,  nor  good  red- 
herring.'  Amongst  the  rest,  butter  and  milk  were  non  est  inventus, 
and  my  companion  declaimed  eloquently  at  the  folly  of  foregoing 
such  essential  dainties  for  the  sake  of  statues  without  noses,  and 
a  lot  of  tumble-down  temples. 

Next  morning  we  had  a  visit  from  a  very  prepossessing  gentle 
man,  who  turned  out  to  be  Mr.  Hill,  an  American  missionary 
at  Athens,  where  he  had  resided  for  several  years.*  During  that 

*  General  J.  Meredith  Read  informed  me  a  few  months  ago  that  Mr.  Hill  was 
still  alive,  and  one  of  the  most  influential  residents  of  Athens. 


Athens.  311 


time  he  had  succeeded  in  establishing  a  school — not  one  of  phi 
losophy,  in  imitation  of  Plato  and  Aristotle,  but  one  where  the 
rudiments  of  a  simple  education  were  taught,  and  which  might 
perchance  some  day  send  forth  a  new  Demosthenes.  It  seemed 
odd  enough  that  our  young  Republic  should  forward  a  delegate 
to  give  the  oldest  republic  in  the  world  a  new  start  in  the  way  of 
education.  In  this  case,  however,  it  was  not  the  progeny  of  the 
rich,  as  in  the  olden  time,  who  were  taken  in  hand,  but  the  children 
of  the  poor  and  lowly,  who  were  not  only  ignorant  of  their  ABC, 
but  devoid  of  all  religious  knowledge.  Though  nominally 
Christians,  the  unfortunate  Greeks  had  been  so  long  the  slaves  of 
the  heathen  Turk,  that  they  were  little  better,  perhaps  worse. 
What  sort  of  a  place  would  the  United  States  become  after  some 
centuries  of  Turkish  rule?  Mr.  Hill  could  not  have  chosen  a  better 
vineyard;  and  not  only  was  the  Christian  religion  cropping  up 
anew  in  the  city  where  St.  Paul  made  so  many  converts,  but  other 
valuable  seed,  such  as  reading,  writing,  and  arithmetic,  was  taking 
root.  How  singular  that  a  nation  the  most  brilliant  of  her  epoch, 
and  upon  whose  learning  succeeding  ages  have  waxed  fat,  should 
begin  to  go  to  school  again  !  How  the  pupils  of  Mr.  Hill 
would  stare,  when  able  to  read,  if  the  histories  of  their  ancestors 
Xenophon  and  Thucydides  were  put  into  their  hands  ! 

My  missionary  acquaintance  had  anything  but  the  appear 
ance  of  a  '  round,  fat,  oily  man  of  God.'  He  was  about  medium 
height,  rather  slender,  with  a  bright  visage  and  brisk  fidgety 
manner  that  indicated  an  active  brain  and  energetic  disposition. 
We  accompanied  him  to  his  house,  which  was  the  most  imposing 
I  had  yet  seen,  and  was  presented  to  his  wife,  quite  as  agreeable 
as  himself,  and  who  aided  him  efficiently  in  his  scholastic 
labours.  All  about  the  house,  especially  his  study,  displayed 
method  and  industry.  He  was  a  man  of  business,  and  one  of 
the  busiest  sort,  American  to  the  tips  of  his  fingers.  I  thought 
it  a  godsend  that  such  a  man  had  got  a  foothold  in  Athens.  I 
was  sure  he  would  contribute  materially  to  its  resurrection.  It  is 
wonderful  what  a  single  man  with  a  clear  head  and  strong  will 
can  accomplish.  I  wished  the  whole  of  Greece  could  be  handed 
over  to  Mr.  Hill  under  contract,  and  it  would  not  have  been  long 
before  he  made  '  the  desert  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose.' 

I  took  a  stroll  with  my  new  friend  about  Athens,  mustering 
some  20,000  inhabitants,  and  he  pointed  to  the  widening  of  the 
streets,  the  building  of  a  better  class  of  houses,  and  the  improve- 


3 1 2  Athens. 


ments  generally  going  on,  and  said  if  the  Government  would 
give  proper  encouragement,  the  town  would  pick  up  rapidly. 

'  What  sort  of  a  Government  have  you  got  ?'  I  asked.  •  '  It 
seems  to  me  an  anomaly  to  send  a  German  satrap  to  rule  over  a 
people  just  out  of  the  throes  of  a  patriotic  war.  What  sym 
pathy  can  exist  between  a  Bavarian  princeling  and  a  people 
who  fought  for  years  with  their  ancient  heroism  to  get  rid  of  a 
foreign  domination  ?' 

'  Naturally  there  is  none  at  all,'  said  Mr.  Hill,  '  and  I  don't 
know  what  will  be  the  end  of  it.  The  Greeks  desired  to  govern 
themselves  ;  but  the  foreign  Powers  who  aided  them  to  gain 
their  independence,  England,  France,  and  Russia,  were  jealous 
of  each  other,  and  it  was  finally  agreed  that  Greece  should  have 
a  constitutional  Government,  with  a  king  who  was  not  under 
the  influence  of  either.  Consequently,  Otho,  a  son  of  the  King 
of  Bavaria,  was  chosen  ;  but  as  he  was  only  eighteen,  it  was  settled 
that  a  regency  composed  of  Bavarian  statesmen  should  conduct 
the  Government  till  he  was  twenty.  In  June  last  he  reached 
this  age,  and  is  now  at  the  head  of  affairs.'  •  ;* 

'  Is  he  competent,'  I  inquired,  '  to  discharge  his  important 
functions  ?' 

'  He  is  intelligent/  replied  Mr.  Hill,  *  but  of  course  inexperi 
enced,  and  therefore  his  Bavarian  Ministers  manage  matters  to 
suit  themselves.  All  the  offices,  civil  and  military,  are  bestowed 
on  Bavarians,  and  the  dissatisfaction  is  universal.  I  foresee 
trouble  if  this  policy  is  maintained.' 

'  It  is  not  probable,'  I  returned, '  that  the  Greek  patriots,  men 
of  spirit  and  great  ability,  like  Tricoupi,  Mavrocordato,  and  the 
rest,  will  quietly  submit  to  this  Bavarian  regime.  If  the  King 
is  not  shrewd  enough  to  call  the  national  party  to  his  side,  he 
will  sooner  or  later  be  overturned.' 

'  The  prospect  is  gloomy/  continued  the  missionary  ;  '  but 
as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  King  gives  me  every  encourage 
ment.  My  school  goes  on  swimmingly.  Come  and  take  a  look 
at  it.' 

I  accompanied  Mr.  Hill  to  the  scene  of  his  labours,  and  in  a 
large  room  of  a  fine  new  building  I  found  his  young  neophytes, 
nearly  a  hundred  in  number,  hard  at  work  at  their  lessons.  They 
were  of  both  sexes,  but  the  girls  in  majority.  They  were  very 
beautiful  children,  and  all  neatly  clad.  Mr.  Hill  praised  their 
intelligence  and  good  conduct.  I  could  not  help  contrasting  this 


Athens.  313 


interesting  spectacle  with  the  condition  of  things  only  a  few 
years  ago,  when  Athens  was  writhing  under  the  heel  of  the  piti 
less  Turk,  and  I  felt  a  glow  of  patriotic  pride  at  the  thought  that 
an  American  had  undertaken  to  regenerate  the  intellect  of 
Greece.  On  my  way  home  I  stopped  to  admire  the  majestic 
beauty  of  the  Temple  of  Theseus,  which  is  in  almost  perfect  pre 
servation.  It  seemed  quite  incredible  that  this  wonderful  edi 
fice  should  have  resisted  «the  ravages  of  time  for  over  two 
thousand  years.  It  was  more  fortunate  than  its  rivals  in  the 
Acropolis,  and  escaped  the  destructive  effect  of  the  bombshells 
of  the  Venetians  and  the  Turks.  The  soft  and  temperate  clime 
of  Greece  is  highly  favourable  to  the  longevity  of  its  ancient 
temples.  I  was  struck  whilst  walking  about  the  streets  with 
the  picturesque  dress  of  the  Greek  men  of  the  better  class. 
They  wore  a  tunic  of  white  down  to  their  knees,  like  the  kilt  of 
the  Scotch  Highlander,  and  a  richly  braided  jacket  of  red  cloth, 
with  open  sleeves  and  without  a  collar.  A  small'red-velvet  cap 
was  stuck  jauntily  on  the  head.  They  were  for  the  most  part 
remarkably  handsome,  justifying  the  declaration  of  Byron  that 
they  were  (  Nature's  favourites  still.'  The  women,  too,  were  ex 
ceedingly  lovely,  preserving  the  well-cut  features  and  expressive 
eyes  so  long  the  characteristic  of  their  race. 

I  examined  one  day,  with  great  curiosity,  a  clepsydra,  or 
water-clock,  such  as  was  in  use  in  ancient  Athens.  These  water- 
clocks  and  sundials  were  the  only  means  of  marking  time  known 
to  the  ancients.  It  was  not  till  the  beginning  of  our  era  that 
mechanism  began  to  supersede  these  simple  contrivances. 

After  four  days  in  Athens,  which  I  enjoyed  beyond  measure 
in  spite  of  the  deficiencies  of  the  Royal  Hotel,  Forrest  insisted 
on  the  resumption  of  our  travels.  It  then  became  a  question  as 
to  our  future  route.  A  sailing-vessel  to  the  South  of  Italy  or 
France  involved  a  tedious  voyage,  from  which  we  shrank.  Mr. 
Hill  advised  us  to  cross  Greece  on  horseback  to  Patras,  whence 
an  Austrian  naval  vessel  ran  every  fortnight  to  Trieste.  This 
journey  would  expose  us  to  some  privation  and  fatigue,  with  a 
possible  encounter  with  brigands,  who  were  scattered  rather 
plentifully  about  the  country.  All  this  struck  us  as  preferable 
to  a  long  trip  by  sea,  and  we  decided  to  undertake  it.  We  set 
off  early  in  the  morning,  with  a  guide  well  acquainted  with  the 
line  of  march,  and  a  good  stock  of  provisions.  I  was  cheered  by 
the  fine  weather  and  the  novelty  of  the  journey.  As  we  jogged 


314  Athens. 


slowly  onwards  I  had  abundant  time  for  retrospection.  The 
marvellous  relics  I  had  so  recently  contemplated  carried  me  back 
in  fancy  to  the  extraordinary  people  they  commemorated,  and 
the  strange  vicissitudes  of  their  history.  After  numberless  tri 
umphs  over  foreign  enemies  and  long  periods  of  civil  war,  their 
nationality  was  at  last  extinguished  by  the  legions  of  Rome.  I 
rejoiced  to  think  I  had  seen  them  standing  once  more  erect  after 
seventeen  hundred  years  of  vassalage,  and  that  an  American 
missionary  was  hard  at  work  giving  them  lessons  in  the  modern 
grammar  of  independence.  A  nation  with  less  vitality  would 
have  been  obliterated  long  ago,  but  they  have  never  ceased  to 
struggle.  Again  and  again  they  have  been  stricken  down,  but 
at  length  are  masters  of  their  native  soil : 

'  For  freedom's  battle,  once  begun, 
Bequeathed  by  bleeding  sire  to  son, 
Though  baffled  oft,  is  ever  won.' 

My  mind  'was  diverted  by  reminiscences  like  these  as  I 
wandered  over  Greece  to  its  western  coast.  The  country  was 
wild,  and  thinly  populated.  We  travelled  all  day,  and  slept  in 
miserable  hovels  at  night.  On  one  occasion  our  advance  was 
impeded  for  a  short  time  by  an  unexpected  incident.  We  were 
creeping  very  cautiously  along  a  narrow  ledge,  around  the  base 
of  a  mountain,  with  a  deep  precipice  on  the  other  side,  when  we 
encountered  a  mule  lying  down,  apparently  from  fright,  directly 
in  our  way.  The  path  was  too  narrow  to  attempt  going  round, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  cross  over  the  animal  at  the  risk  of  its 
suddenly  rising,  which  would  have  involved  a  catastrophe.  After 
considerable  hesitation  and  delay  we  dismounted,  and  our  horses 
were  led  over  the  recumbent  mule,  who  remained  perfectly  still 
Forrest  and  I  cleared  him  at  a  bound.  Whether  his  driver  ever 
managed  to  get  him  up  remained  a  mystery. 

We  reached  Patras  on  the  fourth  evening,  somewhat  jaded  by 
such  unusual  exercise.  We  lingered  in  this  dull  town  for  several 
days,  hard  put  to  it  for  amusement.  It  had  remained  in  the 
possession  of  the  Turks  till  1828,  and  was  in  no  wise  the  better 
for  that.  We  inspected  the  ruins  of  some  old  temples,  whose 
history  was  wrapt  in  oblivion,  and  the  rest  of  the  time  we  passed 
in  praying  hard  for  the  arrival  of  the  Austrian  vessel  that  was  to 
bear  us  off.  At  last  it  came,  and  after  a  day's  delay  it  turned 
its  head  for  Trieste.  We  expected  to  run  up  the  Adriatic  in 
four  or  five  days,  but  contrary  winds  prolonged  it  to  a  fortnight. 


Athens.  3 1 5 


Our  craft  belonged  to  the  Austrian  navy,  and  ranked  as  a 
sloop  of  war.  The  officers  were  intelligent  and  amiable.  Most 
of  them  spoke  French,  and  there  was  no  lack  of  conversation. 
We  were  the  only  passengers,  and  had  a  choice  of  accommoda 
tion,  which  was  nothing  to  boast  of. 

Besides  reading,  walking,  and  chatting,  we  had  a  bout  at 
fencing  every  afternoon.  The  officers  took  great  interest  in 
pitting  Forrest  and  I  against  each  other.  With  all  his  herculean 
strength,  I  remarked  he  was  weak  in  the  wrist,  and  I  found  it 
easy  to  disarm  him,  which  I  frequently  did  to  check  his  im 
petuous  onset.  One  day  we  were  startled  by  the  appearance 
of  a  large  water-spout  directly  ahead  of  us,  considered  danger 
ous  in  these  regions.  They  have  been  known  to  sink  vessels 
larger  than  ours.  The  gunners  were  ordered  to  go  to  work, 
and  a  steady  cannonade  ensued.  We  were  fortunate  enough 
to  strike  it  before  it  reached  us,  but  a  portion  of  it  quite  de 
luged  our  bark.  Forrest  was  so  happy  at  his  escape  from 
Greece  and  its  classic  associations,  that  he  was  in  high  spirits 
all  the  way,  and  told  many  good  stories.  On  one  occasion  he 
uttered  a  witticism  quite  unconsciously.  He  had  a  habit  of 
rubbing  his  nose  with  one  of  his  fingers,  and  of  distorting  his 
features  ludicrously  when  he  did  so.  I  told  him  of  it,  when  he 
replied,  '  You  forget,  my  friend,  that  I  get  my  living  by  making 
faces.' 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

GERMANY. 

TRIESTE  AND  VIENNA. 

I  WAS  delighted  with  Trieste,  a  beautiful  town,  and  it  reminded 
me  greatly  of  Odessa,  with  its  well-paved  streets,  handsome 
shops,  and  fine  houses.  It  lies  at  the  head  of  the  Adriatic,  some 
seventy  miles  from  Venice  on  the  opposite  side  of  the  Gulf,  and 
overlooked  by  the  Friuli  mountains,  a  spur  of  the  Alps.  Its 
population  of  some  60,000  is  partly  German  and  partly  Italian, 
with  a  melange  of  Greeks,  English,  and  French.  There  was  a  deal 
of  commercial  bustle  about  the  place,  but  it  received  little  en 
couragement  from  its  supine  Government.  It  is  the  principal  sea 
port  of  Austria,  and,  in  such  close  communication  with  the  Medi 
terranean  and  the  East,  it  ought  to  be  a  flourishing  maritime 
tpwn.  In  the  hands  of  Americans  or  English  it  would  rapidly 
develop  into  a  great  emporium  ;  but  the  Austrian  Government  was 
too  much  occupied  with  its  military  aggrandisement  to  think  of 
its  commercial  interests. 

My  short  stay  at  Trieste  was  indescribably  pleasant.  Coming 
so  recently  from  the  stagnant  East,  with  its  privations,  dirt,  and 
monotony,  I  revelled  in  the  cleanliness,  animation,  and  amuse 
ments  of  Trieste.  It  was  like  emerging  suddenly  from  the 
ignorant  brutal  epoch  of  the  Middle  Ages  into  the  light  and  life 
of  the  nineteenth  century,  and  the  drawbacks  I  had  lately  ex 
perienced  immeasurably  sweetened  the  enjoyments  of  the  hour. 

We  drove  out  one  morning  some  twenty  miles,  under  the 
escort  of  Mr.  Moore,  the  American  Consul,  a  soft-mannered 
genial  man,  to  see  the  famous  grotto  of  Adelsburg,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  these  parts.  We  entered  it  with  the  requisite  number 
of  guides  carrying  torches,  and  were  soon  plunged  into  its  sub 
terranean  depths.  Its  dimensions  are  vast,  and  have  never  been 
completely  investigated.  We  listened  to  the  mysterious  sounds 
of  rushing  waters  ;  admired  the  splendid  stalactites,  that  often 
resembled  columns  of  alabaster,  and  glittered  with  dazzling 


Germany.  3 1 7 


brilliancy  in  the  light  of  our  flambeaux  ;  and  after  getting 
thoroughly  wet  and  chilled  we  scrambled  back  to  daylight,  with 
our  appetites  sharpened  for  the  palatable  dinner  that  awaited  us 
at  the  inn. 


From  hence  we  moved  on  to  Vienna,  and  a  formidable  job  it 
was.  The  distance  was  between  three  and  four  hundred  miles,, 
and  the  only  conveyance  was  the  ^/7^-wagon,  a  sort  of  French 
diligence.  It  should  have  been  called  a  snail-wagon  from  its 
dilatory  pace.  We  secured  the  coupe,  and  endeavoured  to  make 
ourselves  comfortable,  as  the  journey  was  an  affair  of  three  days 
and  four  nights,  with  short  interludes  for  meals. 

We  began  our  task  by  crawling  for  a  couple  of  hours  up  the 
mountain  overhanging  Trieste,  and  then  set  off  on  a  sluggish  jog 
trot,  that  never  varied  for  the  entire  way.  The  Germans  are  very 
steady,  but  never  in  a  hurry.  The  country  we  traversed  would 
have  been  interesting  at  a  more  mellow  season,  but  looked  dreary 
enough  in  December.  The  contrast,  however,  to  poor  devastated 
Greece  was  very  striking.  On  every  side  signs  of  careful  culture 
abounded.  Tidy  farmhouses  and  capacious  barns  covered  the 
landscape  in  every  direction.  The  scenery,  even  at  this  season,, 
was  not  without  attraction,  but  was  charmingly  diversified  by 
mountain,  hill,  and  dale.  We  stopped  three  times  a  day  for  a 
repast,  which  was  always  substantial.  The  Germans  never 
neglect  their  nourishment  which  accounts  for  their  solid  struc 
ture.  All  the  inns  were  strikingly  clean,  and  looked  half- 
scrubbed  to  death. 

I  was  not  a  little  attracted  by  the  plump  healthy-looking 
girls  who  waited  at  table,  with  their  short  petticoats  and  neat 
white  aprons.  They  chatted  pleasantly  with  our  German  fellow- 
travellers,  and  a  more  simple-mannered  guileless-looking  band 
of  Hebes  I  never  remembered.  I  was  dreadfully  annoyed  by 
the  incessant  smoking  of  the  Germans.  Every  man,  from  high 
to  low,  had  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  The  postillions,  the  conductor,, 
the  passengers,  one  and  all,  were  puffing  away  from  morn  to 
night  I  rejoiced  I  was  not  shut  up  in  the  middle  compartment 
of  our  coach,  whence  thick  clouds  of  smoke  were  always  issuing 
by  the  windows. 

For  the  best  part  of  two  days  we  dragged  along  through 
Illyria,  a  southern  province  of  Austria.  Its  principal  town  is 
Laybach,  but  we  had  no  time  to  inspect  it.  We  next  traversed 


3 1 8  Germany. 


Styria,  whose  chief  town  is  Gratz.  Both  these  districts  are 
overrun  with  mountains,  that  made  our  journey  doubly  tedious. 
During  the  whole  distance  we  constantly  met  large  bodies  of 
troops,  marching  hither  and  thither,  that  served  not  a  little  to 
enliven  the  road.  One  would  have  thought  the  country  at  war, 
but  these  movements  only  indicated  a  change  of  garrison.  The 
men  looked  strong  and  healthy,  and  were  well  uniformed.  I  was 
struck  by  their  grave  demeanour,  which  was  the  effect  rather  of 
the  national  disposition  than  of  discipline.  In  this  respect  the 
Germans  resemble  the  reticent  Turks.  Neither  ever  talk  for  the 
mere  love  of  it. 

I  experienced  a  keen  sense  of  relief  when  I  descended, 
jaded  and  wayworn,  from  the  diligence  on  the  morning  of  the 
fourth  day,  in  Vienna.  Though  my  journey  from  Moscow  to 
Odessa  was  still  longer,  yet,  on  that  occasion,  I  could  stretch 
out  at  night — an  immense  relief.  I  was  sorry  to  see  that  Forrest 
was  greatly  out  of  humour  with  our  tedious  pull  over  the  moun 
tains,  and  the  weariness  of  being  cooped  up  for  four  consecutive 
nights  ;  I  was,  therefore,  less  surprised  than  troubled  to  hear 
him  declare,  after  our  first  breakfast  at  Vienna,  that  he  had  had 
a  surfeit  of  travelling,  and  meant  to  scamper  off  to  Paris  by  the 
shortest  route.  This  utterly  disconcerted  my  plans  ;  for  I  de 
sired  to  push  on  to  Berlin  by  way  of  Prague  and  Dresden,  and 
thence,  by  Leipsic  and  Frankfort,  to  the  sweet  isle  of  Calypso. 
Of  course  I  was  not  at  all  disposed  to  set  off  alone  on  this 
roundabout  excursion,  and  yet  very  loth  to  give  up  a  sight  of 
these  interesting  places,  not  knowing  when  another  opportunity 
might  offer ;  so  I  began  in  my  blandest  manner  and  most  per 
suasive  strain  to  argue  in  favour  of  my  project.  After  a  long 
discussion  I  induced  my  recalcitrant  companion  to  consent  to 
accompany  me,  but  on  the  absolute  condition  that  not  an  hour 
was  to  be  wasted  in  the  survey  of  the  places  mentioned  ;  that 
no  calls  were  to  be  made  or  hospitalities  accepted  ;  that  three 
days  were  to  be  allotted  to  Vienna,  as  many  to  Berlin,  and  one 
for  each  of  the  other  towns.  All  this  was  reduced  to  writing 
and  duly  signed.  A  carriage  and  valet  de  place  were  ordered 
forthwith  to  begin  work.  I  did  not  like  this  hop-skip-and- 
jump  process  of  going  through  Germany,  but  it  was  better  than 
not  seeing  it  at  all,  or  wandering  over  it  alone. 

It  was  as  much  as  my  legs  could  do  to  keep  up  with  my 
impetuous  friend  in  our  gallop  over  Vienna.  I  was  more  be- 


Germany.  3 1 9 


wildered  than  gratified  at  this  hurry-scurry  mode  of  examining 
a  great  city.  It  was  like  looking  through  a  kaleidoscope.  Beau 
tiful  colours  and  picturesque  sights  danced  before  my  vision, 
and  lingered  for  a  moment  in  the  mind  ;  but  all  was  confusing- 
and  perplexing.  *  I  remembered  a  mass  of  things,  but  nothing 
distinctly/  as  Cassio  says.  This  sort  of  thing  suited  Forrest 
exactly.  He  loved  movement,  and  plenty  of  it,  for  its  own  sake. 
He  was  so  full  of  health  and  strength,  that  mere  physical  action 
was  to  him  exhilarating.  Often,  whilst  I  was  gloating  over 
some  beautiful  work  of  art,  he  would  be  at  the  end  of  the 
gallery  chafing  at  my  tardy  steps.  In  this  high-pressure  fashion 
we  dashed  through  palaces,  churches,  galleries,  and  the  Lord 
knows  what  else  within  the  allotted  time. 

We  even  managed  to  drive  out  three  miles  to  visit  Schoen- 
brun,  one  of  the  finest  palaces  in  Europe,  with  gardens  of  im 
mense  extent,  and  great  beauty,  I  should  think,  in  summer  time. 
The  place  was  the  more  interesting  from  its  having  been  occu 
pied  by  that  brilliant  meteor,  Napoleon,  after  twice  vanquishing 
Austria.  It  was  here  that  he  signed  the  treaty  of  1809,  which 
spared  Austria  from  dismemberment  on  condition  of  giving  in 
marriage  Maria  Louisa,  daughter  of  the  defeated  Emperor.  It 
was  here,  too,  that  the  only  child  of  this  unhappy  union,  the 
Duke  de  Reichstadt,  died  in  1832.  I  had  a  glimpse  of  the  state- 
apartments  of  the  H  of  burg,  the  imperial  residence  in  Vienna. 
It  is  an  immense  and  ancient  building,  more  a  fortress  than 
a  palace.  It  is  dimly  lighted  ;  and  everything,  furniture  in 
cluded,  has  a  venerable  aspect.  Its  possessor,  Ferdinand  I., 
only  came  into  possession  in  March  of  that  year.  He  was,  from 
all  accounts,  an  amiable  but  weak-minded  man,  and  took  no 
interest  whatever  in  the  government,  which  was  managed  by  the 
chief  Minister,  the  Prince  Metternich,  the  real  monarch. 

An  amusing  anecdote  was  current  of  the  Emperor,  which  his 
subjects  took  great  delight  in  repeating.  It  appears  that  his 
Majesty  was  hunting  that  summer  in  the  Styrian  mountains, 
and  was  overtaken  by  a  violent  thunderstorm.  He  took  refuge 
in  a  farmhouse,  whose  occupants  were  just  then  at  dinner. 
The  Emperor's  eye  was  caught  by  some  smoking  dumplings, 
made  of  coarse  flour,  and  he  said  he  would  like  to  taste  them. 
The  farmer's  wife  was  overjoyed,  and  helped  him  plentifully. 
His  chamberlains  were  astounded  to  see  their  master  eating 
with  more  relish  than  he  had  ever  done  before.  When  he  got 


320  Germany. 


back  to  Vienna,  he  ordered  the  same  kind  of  dumplings  to  be 
served  up  daily,  to  the  horror  of  the  royal  cooks.  The  courtiers 
were  scandalised  at  such  a  homely  dish  figuring  on  the  menu, 
and  even  his  physicians  remonstrated  against  such  coarse  food. 
The  Emperor,  who  had  always  been  the  most  pliant  of  men, 
now  showed  he  had  a  will  of  his  own,  and  persisted  in  gratifying 
his  new  fancy.  Finally,  after  a  long  consultation,  the  physicians 
decided  it  was  dangerous  to  his  health  to  be  living  on  dump 
lings,  and  insisted  on  his  giving  them  up.  To  their  astonish 
ment,  the  docile  sovereign  stamped  his  foot,  and  declared  he 
wouid  never  sign  another  official  document  if  his  diet  was  denied 
him.  '  Emperor  I  am,'  he  shouted,  '  and  dumplings  I  will  have  !' 
To  prevent  a  stoppage  of  the  government  machinery,  all  oppo 
sition  was  withdrawn,  and  his  Majesty  clung  tenaciously  to 
his  dumplings.  The  imperial  phrase  was  likely  to  become  pro 
verbial,  for  already,  I  heard,  if  any  one  insisted  on  the  gratification 
of  a  silly  whim,  the  Emperor's  words  were  sure  to  be  thrown  at 
him  :  '  Emperor  I  am,  and  dumplings  I  will  have  !' 

Another  story  going  the  rounds  is  worth  repeating.  A  week 
or  two  previously  a  Minister  came  to  the  Emperor's  apartment 
facing  on  +he  street,  and  begged  permission  to  communicate  a 
document  before  asking  his  signature.  His  Majesty  sat  down  by 
the  window,  and  the  Minister  went  on  reading  a  very  lengthy 
despatch.  At  last  it  was  finished,  and  the  Emperor  inquired  if 
he  had  done. 

'  I  have,  your  Majesty,'  said  the  official,  much  flattered  at  the 
close  attention  paid  to  him. 

'  Well,  then,  I  wish  to  inform  you,'  replied  the  Emperor, '  that 
whilst  you  have  been  reading,  nearly  two  hours,  no  less  than  425 
hacks  and  180  omnibuses  have  driven  by  the  Hofburg.' 

The  Minister  was  quite  crestfallen  to  find  the  Emperor,  in 
stead  of  listening,  had  been  busy  counting  the  traffic  passing  the 
palace.  Some  people  suspected  his  Majesty  was  a  bit  of  a  wag, 
and  fond  of  a  practical  joke  at  the  expense  of  the  sticklers  for 
etiquette  who  surrounded  him,  and  disturbed  the  gratification 
of  his  simple  tastes. 

Vienna  struck  me  as  a  very  jolly  place,  a  kind  of  German 
Paris,  full  of  animation,  variety,  and  amusement  The  streets 
were  gay,  and  crowded  with  people  and  showy  equipages,  whose 
coachmen  and  footmen  were  gorgeously  apparelled.  The  number 
of  dashing  officers  in  brilliant  uniforms  I  have  nowhere  seen 


Germany.  321 


exceeded.  The  picturesque  variety  of  military  dress,  represent 
ing  the  numerous  provinces  of  Austria,  reminded  me  of  a  bal 
costum^  in  Paris.  My  head  was  quite  turned  by  the  women 
of  Vienna.  It  was  not  so  much  their  beauty,  which  was  really 
striking,  as  their  soft  seductive  manners.  They  had  a  warm 
hearted  confiding  air  and  expression,  which  appealed  keenly  to 
my  sympathies,  and  perhaps  it  is  just  as  well  my  stay  at  Vienna 
was  so  limited,  or  I  might  never  have  got  away.  The  picture- 
galleries  of  this  charming  capital  were  not  inferior  to  those  of 
Rome  in  merit,  though  perhaps  less  numerous.  It  grieved  me 
deeply  to  flit  by  numberless  gems  I  would  fain  have  lingered 
over. 

I  descended,  on  my  last  afternoon,  into  the  sombre  damp 
vault  where  repose  the  mouldering  bones  of  the  imperial  family, 
male  and  female.  '  Now  get  you  to  my  lady's  chamber,  and  tell 
her,  let  her  paint  an  inch  thick,  to  this  favour  she  must  come.' 
It  was  impressive  and  mournful,  this  review  of  royal  remains, 
some  of  whose  names  glitter  in  history,  discrowned  by  that  sullen 
democrat,  Death.  I  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  bronze  sar 
cophagus  inscribed  with  the  name  of  the  Duke  of  Reichstadt,  son 
of  Napoleon  the  Great,  and  meditated  with  pensive  interest  over  his 
untimely  fate.  His  epitaph  recorded  his  many  virtues.  He  was 
handsome,  amiable,  chivalric.  At  his  birth,  in  1811,  he  was  the 
sole  heir  of  the  greatest  empire  Europe  had  seen  since  the  days 
of  Charlemagne.  He  was  scarce  three  years  old  when  it  was  all 
swept  away  like  '  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision.'  He  grew  up 
in  the  Court  of  his  grandfather,  the  Emperor  of  Austria,  for  a 
long  time  unconscious  of  the  greatness  to  which  he  was  born. 
When  informed  of  his  parentage,  a  sudden  ambition  seized  him, 
and  he  gave  himself  up  to  unremitting  study.  His  delicate 
frame  broke  down  under  this  incessant  toil,  and  he  was  barely 
twenty-one  when  he  was  carried  off  by  rapid  consumption.  On 
his  deathbed  he  confessed  his  passion  for  Fanny  Elssler,  then 
the  '  bright  particular  star'  of  Vienna.  This  secret  had  never 
escaped  his  lips,  and  was  unknown  to  its  object : 

'  He  never  told  his  love, 
But  let  concealment,  like  a  worm  i'  the  bud, 
Feed  on  his  damask  cheek.' 

Vienna  was  enclosed  with  her  old  walls,  and  their  gates  and 
bridges.  The  rampart  was  laid  out  as  a  promenade,  and  even 
at  that  dull  season  was  a  delightful  walk.  Beyond  this  a  new 

Y 


322  Germany. 


city  was  springing  up,  destined  to  eclipse  in  size  and  beauty  the 
old  one. 

These  weather-beaten  walls  had  endured  some  rough  usage 
in  their  time.  Amongst  the  rest,  the  Turks  encamped  before 
them  in  1529,  and,  after  twenty  vain  assaults,  were  finally  driven 
off  by  Charles  V.  Again,  in  1683,  the  Turks  returned,  and  this 
time  would  have  scaled  them  but  for  the  intervention  of  the 
King  of  Poland,  who  aided  the  Austrians  to  drive  them  back. 
When  these  ramparts  were  first  erected  goodness  knows,  but  the 
site  of  Vienna  was  an  important  military  station  of  the  Romans 
in  the  time  of  Augustus. 

Outside  the  walls  there  were  numerous  gardens,  where  in 
summer  concerts  were  given  daily.  The  Viennese  are  inordinately 
fond  of  music,  and  equally  addicted  to  the  dance.  In  waltzing 
they  are  unsurpassed.  The  Opera  here  was  hardly  inferior  to 
that  of  Paris.  The  artists  were  of  the  highest  grade,  whilst  the 
orchestra  was  a  nonpareil.  The  Germans  always  excel  in  instru 
mentation.  The  ballet  was  splendidly  organised. 

The  people  of  Vienna  have  lost  much  of  the  gravity  and  heavi 
ness  of  the  German  character  by  their  long  association  with 
Italy.  Something  of  the  soft  and  sunny  influence  of  the  southern 
nation  has  penetrated  the  Austrians  after  the  contact  of  cen 
turies,  and  inspired  a  love  of  mirth  and  recreation  I  did  not 
expect  to  find  on  the  banks  of  the  Danube. 

I  was  told  that  the  Austrian  Government  was  as  absolute  as 
five  hundred  years  ago,  that  any  allusion  to  a  constitutional  regime 
must  be  made  in  a  whisper.  The  truth  is  poor  Austria  was  so 
knocked  about  in  the  Napoleonic  wars  for  twenty  years  that  the 
people  were  perfectly  content  with  Metternich  and  good  order. 
The  suggestion  they  might  be  happier  under  a  representative 
system  found  no  credence,  and  they  were  disposed  to  let  well  alone. 
They  might  see  things  through  other  spectacles  one  of  these  days. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 
GERMANY  (continued}. 

PRAGUE — DRESDEN — BERLIN — FRANKFORT. 

I  WAS  pleased  to  arrive  in  Prague,  the  capital  of  Bohemia,  on  a 
Sunday  morning,  for  I  anticipated  seeing  more  of  the  population 
in  the  streets  than  on  a  week-day.  I  found  their  tone  very 
different  from  the  gay  Viennese.  They  seemed  to  have  inherited 
a  good  deal  of  the  seriousness,  if  not  sternness,  of  the  indomitable 
John  Huss,  who  at  the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  began 
life  in  this  town  as  confessor  of  the  Queen  of  Bohemia,  and  Rector 
of  the  University.  He  was  one  of  that  pugnacious  breed,  however, 
who,  as  they  say  at  home,  are  always  '  spoiling  for  a  fight ;'  and 
he  no  sooner  heard  of  Wickliffe's  rebellion  against  the  Pope  in 
England  than  he  adopted  his  heretical  views,  and  threw  the  good 
Catholics  of  Prague  and  Bohemia  into  consternation  by  de 
nouncing  his  Holiness  of  Rome  and  all  his  works.  This  was 
the  birth  of  Protestantism  in  Germany,  nearly  a  century  before 
Luther  came  to  consolidate  it.  The  poor  man  paid  dearly  for 
his  battle  with  Mother  Church,  for  when  he  refused  to  retract  he 
was  condemned  to  be  burnt  at  Constance  in  1415.  His  courage 
and  death  aroused  the  whole  of  Bohemia,  and  only  four  years 
later  an  army  of  Hussites  entered  Prague,  and  murdered  all  the 
Senators.  This  was  only  one  of  many  bloody  scenes  connected 
with  the  town  that  occurred  to  me  as  I  walked  through  its  streets, 
which  had  such  a  placid  aspect  one  could  hardly  fancy  they  had 
been  so  often  the  theatre  of  sanguinary  commotions.  Prague  had 
a  very  old  and  quaint  appearance,  that  stirred  my  archaeological 
tendencies,  and  I  appealed  to  Forrest  for  another  day,  but  he  was 
intractable. 

At  this  time  Charles  X.  was  living  here  in  the  old  palace  of 
the  Bohemian  kings ;  and  I  was  told  that  if  I  went  to  the  chapel 
in  the  afternoon  I  might  see  him,  as  he  never  slighted  his  religious 
duties.  I  was  there  before  service  began,  and,  soon  after,  the  ex- 


324  Germany. 


King  appeared  in  the  royal  box.  He  was  tall  and  erect,  though 
in  his  seventy-ninth  year,  and  bore  traces  of  the  elegance  for  which 
he  was  remarkable  in  his  youth.  He  had  still  the  graceful  grand 
air  which  distinguished  him  among  the  cavaliers  of  the  Court  of 
Marie  Antoinette.  He  opened  his  prayer-book  when  he  sat 
down,  and  his  mind  seemed  wholly  absorbed  in  his  devo 
tions. 

I  contemplated  with  keen  interest  this  relic  of  the  old  French 
monarchy,  which  died  in  his  hands.  He  was  seventeen  when  his 
brother  Louis  XVI.  came  to  the  throne;  and  he  witnessed  all  the 
tumults  which  foretold  the  storm  of  1789.  He  was  shrewd  enough 
to  leave  France,  and  spent  his  time  in  urging  the  sovereigns  of 
Europe  to  restore  the  sceptre  to  his  family.  It  was  harder  work 
than  at  first  supposed  ;  but  in  1814  he  returned  to  Paris  with  his 
brother  Louis  XVIII.  When  asked  if  he  saw  much  change,  'I  only 
see  a  Frenchman  the  more,'  he  replied,  referring  to  himself.  He 
was  unconscious  of  the  mighty  change  that  had  occurred,  and 
that  France  had  been  born  anew  since  he  left  it.  He  resumed  his 
old  Court  life  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  proving  how  true  it  was 
that  'the  Bourbons  forgot  nothing  and  learned  nothing.'  In  1824 
he  succeeded  his  brother  on  the  throne,  and  expected  to  govern 
as  his  ancestors  had  done  before  him.  The  outcries  at  his  arbitrary 
policy  he  ignored,  and  went  on  with  his  hunting  pastimes  as  usual 
One  day,  in  July  1830,  he  was  informed  that  Paris  was  in  revolu 
tion.  '  O,  that  will  soon  blow  over,'  he  remarked,  as  he  sat  down 
to  his  rubber  of  whist  with  perfect  composure.  When  informed 
the  troops  were  giving  way,  he  answered,  '  That's  nothing  ;  what's 
trumps  ?'  This  was  his  last  game  of  whist  at  St.  Cloud.  The 
next  day  he  was  again  on  the  road  to  exile. 

There  he  sat,  as  calmly  as  though  he  had  never  heard  of  the 
first  Revolution,  which  devoured  his  brother  and  sister,  or  that  he 
had  any  hand  in  the  second,  which  sent  him  to  attend  mass  at 
Prague.  Though  by  no  means  a  fool,  yet  he  could  not  compre 
hend  the  march  of  events,  or  believe  that  the  France  of  his  old 
age  was  any  different  from  that  of  his  youth.  He  was  always 
the  same  man  ;  why  should  others  change  ?  At  the  conclusion 
he  rose,  crossed  himself,  and  disappeared  with  his  suite  from 
view.  This  was  my  only  glimpse  of  the  last  representative  of 
the  French  monarchy  of  the  Middle  Ages.  I  left  the  Austrian 
dominions  when  I  crossed  the  frontier  of  Bohemia,  which  had 
belonged  to  the  House  of  Hapsburg  for  three  centuries.  Every 


Germany.  325 


new  Emperor  of  Austria  came  to  Prague  to  be  crowned  King  of 
Bohemia. 

Dresden  was  our  next  stopping-place,  and  I  was  so  carried 
away  by  its  attractions  that  I  had  half  a  notion  to  abandon 
Forrest,  and  let  him  proceed  alone  to  Paris.  He  remonstrated 
at  any  violation  of  our  agreement,  and  I  yielded  reluctantly.  A 
lovely  place  is  Dresden,  with  its  wide  streets,  its  noble  mansions, 
its  gardens,  palaces,  museums,  and  galleries.  A  very  busy  time 
I  had  of  it  galloping  from  one  point  of  interest  to  another. 
The  pictures  of  Dresden  are  among  the  finest  in  Europe  ;  but  'I 
was  forced  to  pass  them  in  rapid  review. 

I  worked  indefatigably  to  see  all  that  was  possible  in  the 
limited  time  at  my  command ;  but,  amid  all  the  flurry,  my  mind 
reverted  to  the  singular  death  of  Moreau  before  this  town  in 
1813.  He  was  the  most  brilliant  of  all  the  great  generals  that 
suddenly  appeared  when  Europe  invaded  France  in  1/92.  His 
victories  in  Germany  covered  him  with  renown,  and  not  less  so 
his  skilful  retreat  through  the  Black  Forest.  In  1804  he  became 
jealous  of  the  rising  greatness  of  his  rival  Napoleon,  and  entered 
into  a  conspiracy  against  him.  It  was  discovered,  and  he  was 
sentenced  to  exile.  He  then  went  to  the  United  States,  and 
afterwards  to  England.  The  Emperor  of  Russia  offered  him  a 
high  position  if  he  would  join  the  Allies  against  Napoleon.  He 
accepted  it  gladly,  thirsting  for  revenge.  He  came  to  Dresden 
in  July,  and,  the  very  day  before  the  battle  fought  here  in  August 
1813,  he  was  engaged  in  making  a  reconnaissance,  when  a 
cannon-ball  struck  him,  carrying  off  both  his  legs.  He  under 
went  amputation,  and  smoked  tranquilly  through  the  operation. 
He  died  soon  after,  deploring  his  ill-luck  in  not  contributing  to 
the  defeat  of  the  man  he  detested.  He  would  have  been  dis 
appointed,  for  Napoleon  won  the  battle. 

We  had  just  finished  dinner  when  the  card  of  an  American 
gentleman  was  brought  in,  who  desired  to  pay  us  a  visit.  We 
welcomed  him  cordially,  and  a  sprightly  conversation  followed. 
He  was  full  of  anecdote  and  piquant  remark,  displaying  acute 
observation  and  great  independence  of  character.  He  was 
living  in  Dresden,  studying  German,  and  enjoying  the  gaieties  of 
this  fascinating  town.  This  was  my  first  acquaintance  with 
Samuel  Ward,  son  of  the  New  York  banker,  of  the  well-known 
house  of  Prime,  Ward,  &  King. 


326  Germany. 


There  was  not  a  more  popular  man  in  Germany  than  Anthony, 
the  reigning  King  of  Saxony.  He  was  the  first  who  made  up  his 
mind,  shut  his  eyes,  and  swallowed  the  constitutional  pill.  To- 
be  sure,  a  little  pressure  was  necessary.  Insurrections  broke 
out  in  Dresden  and  Leipsic  in  1831  ;  but,  rather  than  fight  about 
it,  he  consented  to  consign  absolutism  to  the  tomb  of  the 
Capulets,  and  granted  a  constitution.  It  was  working  well,  and 
everybody  was  satisfied.  Now  that  the  example  had  been  set, 
other  rulers  in  Germany  would  be  called  on  to  take  the  same 
dose,  but  would  they  imitate  the  sagacious  Anthony  ? 


The  eile- wagon  deposited  us  safely  in  Berlin,  the  capital  of 
Prussia,  the  largest  city  in  the  north  of  Germany,  and  the  head 
quarters  of  Protestantism.  Whether  it  was  the  difference  of 
climate,  soil,  or  religion,  the  contrast  was  striking  between  the 
cold  austere  people  of  Berlin  and  the  jovial  jocund  souls  of 
Vienna.  Everything  had  a  dull  and  chilly  look.  The  streets, 
though  wide,  were  ill-paved ;  the  houses  mostly  small  and 
ungainly.  There  was  nothing  anywhere  either  grand  or  im 
posing.  The  insignificant  river  that  runs  through  the  town 
offers  no  facilities  for  shipping  ;  and  no  such  thing  as  trade  or 
commerce,  in  the  large  sense,  seemed  to  exist.  This  was  not  to 
be  wondered  at,  since  the  resources  of  the  country  were  so 
limited.  The  land  throughout  Prussia  is  unproductive,  and 
barely  furnishes  subsistence  for  its  restricted  population.  Yet 
Prussia  ranked  as  one  of  the  first  Powers  of  Europe ;  but  this 
was  solely  due  to  her  perfect  military  organisation.  She  was 
preeminently  a  nation  of  soldiers.  Berlin  was  simply  a  garrison, 
and  the  rest  of  the  country  a  camp. 

It  was  by  these  means  Frederick  the  Great  raised  her  from 
an  insignificant  State  to  the  foremost  place.  This  eminent 
genius,  who  ascended  the  throne  in  1740,  was  the  first  soldier  of 
his  time,  and  hardly  less  distinguished  in  politics  and  literature. 
He  was  the  hero  of  the  '  Seven  Years'  War/  when  he  fought 
singly  against  a  coalition  of  France,  Austria,  Russia,  Sweden,  and 
Saxony,  and  came  out  victorious.  The  reigning  King  was  an 
estimable  man,  but  no  soldier.  He  joined  the  coalition  against 
Napoleon,  and  was  stripped  of  nearly  all  his  dominions,  which,, 
however,  were  returned  to  him  after  the  battle  of  Waterloo. 

Education  was  greatly  advanced  in  Prussia,  and  she  relied  for 


Germany.  327 


influence  on  her  superior  intelligence  and  admirably  disciplined 
army.  I  found  three  days  eno.ugh  to  run  over  Berlin  ;  indeed 
one  of  these  I  devoted  to  Potsdam,  some  fifteen  miles  away. 
This  was  the  favourite  residence  of  the  great  Frederick,  and  he 
embellished  it  with  some  fine  monuments,  churches,  and  palaces. 
The  one  he  occupied,  Sans  Souci,  was  the  least  pretending  of 
all.  An  anecdote  is  told  of  him  quite  characteristic.  When  the 
land  was  bought  for  the  royal  park,  a  miller  refused  to  give  up 
his  ground,  in  spite  of  the  liberal  sum  offered.  When  the  King 
heard  of  it  he  ordered  him  not  to  be  disturbed,  but  to  include 
his  mill  in  the  park,  where  it  remains  to  this  day.  The  few 
simple  rooms  that  Frederick  occupied  in  Sans  Souci  are  pre 
served  in  the  exact  condition  he  left  them,  and  they  interested 
me  more  than  anything  I  saw  at  Berlin. 

For  me  there  is  an  indefinable  charm  thrown  over  even  the 
commonest  object  associated  with  a  truly  great  man.  I  felt  this 
profoundly  at  Mount  Vernon  ;  hardly  less  so  at  Ferney,  where 
Voltaire  did  his  spiriting. 

Napoleon  visited  the  tomb  of  Frederick  at  Potsdam,  and, 
removing  his  hat,  pronounced  a  strong  eulogium  on  his  great 
merits.  The  Government  of  Prussia  still  remained  what  Fre 
derick  left  it,  an  absolute  monarchy,  and  there  was  no  prospect 
at  present  of  its  undergoing  any  modification.  It  was  well 
adapted  to  a  country  so  essentially  military,  and  which  counted 
on  its  development  by  force  of  arms.  Should  the  constitutional 
fever  break  out  here,  as  it  might  some  day,  it  would  curtail  the 
royal  prerogative,  but  not  materially  affect  the  military  system 
on  which  Prussia  depended  for  its  importance  in  the  European 
orbit.  She  had  made  astonishing  progress  since  the  insignificant 
Electorate  of  Brandenburg  was  converted  into  a  monarchy. 
She  was  well-nigh  the  youngest  monarchy  in  Europe,  and 
already  was  disputing  the  preponderance  of  Austria  over  Ger 
many.  Another  Frederick  II.  would  make  her  the  terror  of  the 
Continent. 

We  met  with  a  trifling  accident  as  we  drove  in  hot  haste  from 
our  hotel  to  the  diligence,  the  first  in  all  our  travels.  A  wheel 
of  our  carriage  was  torn  off  by  the  rough  causeway,  and  we 
rolled  over  in  a  very  precipitate  fashion.  Fortunately  the  horses 
did  not  run  away.  After  extricating  ourselves  from  the  capsized 
vehicle,  Forrest  groaned  at  our  probable  detention  for  another 
day  ;  but,  as  our  luggage  had  preceded  us,  I  suggested  a  pedes- 


328  Germany. 


trian  effort  to  catch  the  *?z7<?-wagon  ;  and  we  started  off  at  full 
speed,  under  the  lead  of  our  valet.  We  came  up  breathless,  but 
just  in  time. 

We  entered  Leipsic  next  day  after  dark,  and  I  would  gladly 
have  tarried  here  for  a  little  time,  if  only  to  inspect  the  famous 
battle-field  where  Napoleon's  career  was  virtually  terminated,  in 
October  1813.  He  lost  the  victory  through  the  defection  of  his 
Saxon  allies.  The  mere  suggestion  of  delay  brought  an  em 
phatic  protest  from  my  companion,  who  was  wild  with  excite 
ment  now  that  his  head  was  turned  towards  Paris.  After  a 
hasty  meal  we  resumed  our  places,  and  started  for  Frankfort  - 
on-the-Main.  We  were  barely  off  before  I  perceived  that  For 
rest,  in  his  hurry,  had  left  behind  him  the  gun  he  bought  at 
Hamburg,  and  had  constantly  dragged  about  with  him,  with 
out  a  single  opportunity  of  ever  using  it  for  pleasure  or  defence. 
He  wore  it  strapped  over  his  shoulder  as  we  crossed  Greece, 
and  he  looked  so  like  a  brigand  that  we  may  have  been  re 
garded  as  brother  highwaymen  by  the  numerous  gangs  of 
that  region.  He  was  anxious  to  preserve  it  as  a  souvenir  of  his 
journey. 

4  Well/  I  remarked,  'your  gun,  I  fancy,  has  gone  off  at  last.' 

He  looked  about  eagerly,  but  it  was  not  to  be  found.  He 
was  vastly  annoyed,  and  gave  way  to  a  volley  of  expletives. 

'  If  you  had  stayed  a  day  in  Leipsic/  I  hinted,  *  this  might 
not  have  happened.' 

' 1  would  rather  lose  a  hundred  guns  than  a  single  day  of 
Paris/  he  retorted  energetically;  and  there  the  matter  dropped. 

We  were  forced  to  pass  most  of  the  day  in  Frankfort,  and  I 
invested  the  whole  of  it  in  rambling  about  this  interesting  old 
town,  which  became  prominent  as  far  back  as  the  eighth  cen 
tury.  It  was  one  of  the  four  free  cities  of  Germany,  and  the  seat 
of  the  German  Diet  or  Congress.  Many  of  its  public  buildings 
bear  the  stamp  of  great  antiquity.  I  visited  the  beautiful  statue 
of  Ariadne  at  the  residence  of  M.  Bethmann,  its  owner,  copies  of 
which  are  scattered  over  Europe.  In  elegance  of  form  and 
natural  grace  it  is  worthy  of  Grecian  sculpture.  I  stopped  to 
look  at  the  unpretending  house  of  Meyer  Rothschild,  the  founder 
of  the  famous  banking  firm.  He  began  life  as  a  clerk  with  a 
banker  in  Hanover.  By  degrees  he  accumulated  a  small  capi 
tal,  and  then  established  himself  in  business  in  his  native  town  of 


Germany.  329 


Frankfort.  He  owed  to  a  single  incident  his  rise  in  the  world. 
In  1 806  the  Landgrave  of  Hesse  was  obliged  to  abandon  his 
territory  on  the  advance  of  Napoleon,  and  he  deposited  all  his 
money  with  the  young  banker  of  Frankfort,  who  took  charge  of  it 
at  the  risk  of  offending  the  French  Emperor.  On  the  return  of 
the  Landgrave  to  his  capital,  the  house  of  Rothschild  promptly 
restored  the  large  sum  in  its  hands  with  interest.  This  loyal 
conduct  gained  the  confidence  of  all  the  crowned  heads  of 
Germany,  and  it  gradually  became  their  trusted  financial  agent. 
Meyer,  the  founder  of  the  Frankfort  house,  had  five  sons,  who 
all  entered  the  business.  On  his  death  the  eldest  succeeded 
him  at  Frankfort.  The  others  had  successively  become  the 
heads  of  various  branches,  established  at  Vienna,  Paris,  London, 
and  Naples.  At  the  desire  of  their  father  they  all  continued  in 
partnership,  and  it  is  now  admitted  to  be  the  richest  firm  in 
Europe.  The  motto  bequeathed  by  Meyer  Rothschild  to  his 
children  was  '  Concord,  Industry,  Integrity/  and  thus  far  it  has 
been  faithfully  observed. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

PARIS  REVISITED. 

STRIKING  IMPROVEMENTS — AN  '  INFERNAL  MACHINE* — ITS  AUTHORS  ARRAIGNED 
— A  THRILLING  EXECUTION. 

To  find  myself  once  more  in  Paris,  January  1836,  after  so  ex 
tended  a  journey,  was  of  itself  a  source  of  satisfaction.  It  was 
a  still  greater  one  to  mingle  again  with  a  people  so  amiable, 
gay,  and  intelligent  as  the  French,  and  to  participate  in  the 
luxurious  life  that  renders  this  splendid  capital  so  attractive  to 
all  foreigners.  But  the  greatest  delight  of  all  was  to  return  to 
a  country  that,  in  its  intellectual  and  political  activity,  as  well 
as  in  its  social  and  material  aspects,  fully  represented  the  cen 
tury  in  which  I  was  living. 

However  curious  and  interesting  in  many  respects  the  lands 
I  had  lately  visited,  they  all  seemed  to  belong  to  a  past  epoch. 
Russia  was  simply  a  military  despotism,  doubtless  admirably 
adapted  to  develop  a  semi-civilised  empire.  Turkey  was  a 
mere  barbarism,  rilling  the  spectator  with  wonder  that  it  still 
survived  the  lawless  era  whence  it  sprang.  Greece  a  mere 
museum  of  antiquities,  though  slowly  emerging  from  a  long 
night  of  cruel  oppression.  Germany,  for  the  most  part,  in  the 
condition  the  Middle  Ages  had  left  it,  with  its  absolute  govern 
ments,  its  feudal  laws,  and  oppressed  peasantry.  But  here,  in 
France,  the  nineteenth  century,  with  its  limited  monarchy,  its 
representative  regime,  its  unrestricted  intellect,  was  in  full  swing, 
and  the  spectacle  overflowed  with  animation.  Every  day  had 
its  events,  its  thoughts,  its  emotions.  I  felt,  in  fact,  as  if  I  had 
emerged  once  more  into  the  streets,  full  of  bustle  and  variety, 
after  wandering  for  a  long  time  through  a  gallery  of  waxworks, 
silent  and  motionless. 

I  perceived  that  Paris  had  been  much  improved  during  my 
absence.     Gas  was  rapidly  superseding  oil  in  the  thoroughfares  ; 
sewers  were  constructed  ;  new  streets  opened  ;    foot-pavements 
multiplied  ;  new  buildings  erected  ;  the  Arch  of  Triumph  com 
pleted,  as  well  as  the  beautiful  Madeleine  Church  ;  the  Place 


Paris  Revisited.  331 


de  la  Concorde  was  paved,  and  embellished  with  fountains.  In 
short,  on  every  side,  signs  of  prosperity  and  good  government 
were  apparent.  One  thing,  however,  struck  me  forcibly,  which 
was  a  certain  sobriety  of  tone,  a  greater  reserve  in  the  manners 
and  language  of  people,  than  I  had  previously  observed.  This  was 
especially  the  case  with  the  press.  When  I  left  Paris  the  previous 
spring,  the  papers  were  tilting  at  each  other  furiously.  They 
were  divided  then,  as  now,  into  three  hostile  camps — the  Legi 
timists,  the  Republicans,  and  the  supporters  of  the  Government. 
All  the  daily  papers  were  the  organs  of  one  or  the  other  of  these 
parties,  and  they  were  incessantly  engaged  in  combat.  When 
fiery  words  were  not  enough  to  convey  their  hatred  of  each 
other,  they  resorted  to  the  sword  or  pistol,  and  duels  were  of 
constant  occurrence.  As  for  a  newspaper  in  the  ordinary  sense, 
no  such  a  thing  existed.  In  the  eyes  of  these  pugnacious  jour 
nalists,  news  was  of  secondary  importance  to  their  personal  in 
terests  and  party  advantage.  If  an  earthquake  had  swallowed 
the  half  of  Paris,  the  papers  would  have  been  the  last  to  men 
tion  it.  These  lords  of  the  quill  lived  in  just  the  same  state  of 
open  warfare  as  did  the  feudal  lords  of  the  olden  time.  They 
thought  of  nothing  but  their  own  quarrels,  and  the  din  of  arms 
resounded  day  and  night.  However  exciting  and  pleasant  this 
might  be  for  them,  the  mass  of  the  community  were  disturbed 
and  alarmed  by  all  this  wrangling  and  hubbub.  The  worst  of 
it  was  the  encouragement  given  to  the  idle  and  desperate  men 
abounding  in  Paris  to  concoct  plots  against  the  Government, 
and  even  to  hatch  attempts  against  the  life  of  the  King,  who 
was  doing  his  best  to  make  France  prosperous  and  happy. 

A  most  diabolical  effort  to  get  rid  of  him  and  all  his  family, 
and  so  precipitate  another  Revolution,  had  been  made  only  a  few 
months  previous  to  my  return.  At  the  end  of  July,  on  the  anni 
versary  of  the  Revolution  of  1830,  a  review  of  the  army  of  Paris 
had  been  ordered.  The  troops  were  drawn  up  in  double  lines 
over  a  distance  of  two  miles.  The  King  set  out  at  ten  in  the 
morning,  followed  by  his  three  sons,  his  Ministers,  and  a  military 
escort.  He  had  well-nigh  completed  his  task,  when,  as  he  was 
passing  along  the  Boulevard  du  Temple,  amid  the  acclamations 
of  the  crowd,  a  sudden  explosion  was  heard,  like  the  simul 
taneous  discharge  of  a  platoon,  and  in  an  instant  the  ground 
around  the  royal  family  was  strewn  with  the  dead  and  the  dying. 
An  *  infernal  machine,'  consisting  of  twenty-five  musket-barrels, 


332  Paris  Revisited. 


had  been  erected  in  the  window  of  a  house  commanding  the 
street,  and  as  the  King  passed  it  was  fired.  Fortunately  six  of 
the  barrels  burst,  but  the  rest  did  their  deadly  work.  Eighteen 
persons  were  killed,  and  many  more  wounded  ;  most  of  them 
were  spectators.  The  King  escaped  untouched  ;  but  the  bullet 
that  would  have  pierced  him  entered  the  body  of  his  Prime 
Minister,  the  Marshal  Mortier,  who  was  at  his  side.  Thus 
perished  this  distinguished  soldier  and  upright  man,  who  entered 
the  army  in  1791,  and  fought  his  way  through  the  countless 
battles  of  the  Republic  and  the  Empire.  The  King's  eldest  son 
was  slightly  bruised,  and  the  horse  of  another  son  was  wounded. 
Providence  willed  it  that  none  of  the  intended  victims  should 
suffer.  The  blow  fell  upon  those  only  who  were  not  selected 
for  sacrifice. 

The  assassin  who  had  planned  this  fiendish  massacre  made 
desperate  efforts  to  escape.  Jumping  from  a  window  in  the 
rear  of  the  house  where  the  machine  had  been  fired,  he  lit  upon 
an  adjoining  roof,  and  running  along  he  dashed  through  a  sky 
light,  and  made  his  way  to  the  street,  where  he  was  at  once 
arrested.  He  was  covered  with  blood,  having  been  severely 
wounded  by  the  explosion  of  the  barrels  that  had  been  over 
loaded.  His  name  was  Fieschi ;  and  an  investigation  of  his 
history  showed  that  his  career  had  always  been  infamous.  He 
had  been  at  one  time  convicted  of  theft  and  forgery ;  at  another 
had  figured  as  a  police-spy ;  and  latterly,  without  resources  or 
character,  he  had  determined  on  the  destruction  of  the  royal 
family,  hoping  that  anarchy  and  pillage  would  ensue,  which  he 
meant  to  turn  to  his  profit.  Soon  afterwards  it  was  discovered 
that  he  had  two  accomplices  :  one  quite  an  old  man,  by  name 
of  Morey,  a  harness-maker  by  trade  ;  the  other  a  grocer  named 
Pepin,  who  was  able  to  supply  what  money  was  required.  All 
these  wretches  were  committed  for  trial  ;  and  no  one  doubted 
the  fate  that  awaited  them. 

Horror  and  indignation  filled  the  public  mind,  and  the  general 
conviction  was  that  the  unscrupulous  vilification  of  the  Govern 
ment  by  the  party  press  was  the  real  cause  of  these  appalling 
acts.  The  whole  community  demanded  that  some  check  should 
be  applied  ;  and  accordingly  Thiers,  who  was  one  of  the  Ministers, 
brought  forward  in  September  a  series  of  laws  designed  to  curb 
the  unbridled  license  of  the  party  journals.  Everybody  rejoiced 
at  this  needed  legislation  ;  but  the  champions  of  the  Opposition 


Paris  Revisited. 


333 


cried  out  that  the  liberty  of  the  press  was  muzzled.  '  High  time 
too/  retorted  the  public  ;  '  for  the  liberty  you  want  is  to  over 
throw  the  Government,  and  step  into  its  place,  regardless  of  the 
ruin  that  would  fall  on  the  country.' 

The  trial  of  Fieschi  and  his  confederates  took  place  soon  after 
my  arrival  in  Paris  ;  and  such  was  the  eagerness  to  witness  the 
proceedings  that  every  privileged  spot  had  been  secured  for 
weeks  in  advance.  As  foreseen,  they  were  all  condemned  to 
death,  but  the  day  of  execution  was  not  named.  According  to 
usage,  it  was  certain  to  follow  soon  ;  but  as  the  Government 
desired  to  prevent  a  large,  and  perhaps  riotous,  assemblage,  the 
time  was  not  announced.  Though  the  spectacle  was  likely  to  be 
a  painful  one,  I  determined  to  witness  it.  In  common  with  all, 
I  experienced  such  profound  detestation  for  the  crime  that  I  felt 
I  could  look  upon  the  deserved  punishment  of  these  odious 
malefactors  with  something  like  indifference.  The  only  means 
that  occurred  to  me  to  ascertain  when  the  sentence  would  be 
carried  out  was  to  employ  a  man  to  pass  the  night  at  the  Barriere 
St.  Jacques,  the  usual  place  of  execution,  to  watch  when  prepara 
tions  were  made  for  the  erection  of  the  scaffold,  and  then  to  come 
to  me  immediately  with  the  information.  After  the  lapse  of  se 
veral  days  I  was  aroused  at  four  o'clock  one  morning,  about  the 
middle  of  February,  and  told  they  were  putting  up  the  guillotine. 

Accompanied  by  an  American  friend,  I  started  off  in  all  haste 
for  the  somewhat  distant  point,  and  on  my  arrival  could  just 
discern  through  the  misty  dawn  that  the  instrument  of  death 
was  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  great  square,  and  ready  for  its 
victims.  It  was  surrounded  by  a  large  body  of  troops,  to  pre 
vent  any  possible  attempts  at  rescue.  Already  an  immense  crowd 
was  assembled  ;  and,  along  with  the  rest,  I  pushed  my  way  to  the 
nearest  accessible  spot,  regardless  of  the  repeated  orders  of  the 
police  to  fall  back.  At  last  a  determined  charge  of  cavalry  was 
made,  and  many  of  the  excited  spectators  were  knocked  down, 
whilst  the  others  were  scattered  in  all  directions.  To  save  my 
self,  I  dashed  headlong  into  the  open  door  of  a  small  house  facing 
the  square,  and  to  my  great  satisfaction  observed  a  window  com 
manding  a  complete  view  of  the  scene  without.  By  the  offer  of 
a  liberal  sum  I  obtained  possession  of  this  advantageous  position, 
and  desired  the  owner  to  turn  out  a  motley  lot,  who  in  the 
scamper  had  sought  the  same  shelter,  and  would  have  disputed 
my  monopoly  of  the  sight.  The  police  were  called  in  to  clear 


334  Paris  Revisited. 


the  house ;  and  amongst  those  who  protested  the  loudest  I 
recognised  the  voice  of  my  friend,  whom  I  had  lost  some  time 
before  in  the  darkness  and  confusion.  I  rescued  him  from  eject 
ment,  and  we  were  left  in  undisturbed  enjoyment  of  the  ad 
mirable  point  of  view  I  had  so  strangely  come  by. 

It  was  now  seven  o'clock  and  broad  daylight.  This  was  the 
first  time  I  had  ever  beheld  that  terrible  engine  the  guillotine, 
so  closely  associated  with  the  carnage  of  the  first  Revolution. 
The  sight  of  it  at  any  time  would  have  given  me  a  chill  ;  but 
now  that  its  glittering  axe  was  so  soon  to  be  smeared  with  the 
blood  of  the  doomed  men,  it  awakened  a  feeling  of  lively  horror. 

The  executioner  and  his  assistants  were  calmly  walking  about 
on  the  platform,  apparently  insensible  to  the  dreadful  task  that 
would  soon  devolve  upon  them.  A  sombre  and  impressive  silence 
prevailed  among  the  troops  and  the  multitude  beyond,  which  was 
only  disturbed  by  the  neighing  of  horses  and  a  low  hoarse  murmur 
that  revealed  the  excited  emotions  at  work.  Suddenly  a  startled 
movement  of  the  crowd  indicated  the  approach  of  the  criminals, 
and  in  a  moment  more  three  hackney  coaches  drove  up  under  a 
strong  escort,  and  stopped  directly  in  front  of  the  guillotine. 
A  suppressed  cry,  like  a  groan,  was  uttered  by  the  harrowed 
spectators,  and  then  all  was  silent  again.  The  occupant  of  the 
first  coach  descended.  It  was  Pepin,  the  grocer.  From  the 
second  one  emerged  Morey,  the  harness-maker ;  and  last  appeared 
the  chief  assassin,  Fieschi,  each  accompanied  by  a  priest.  All 
three  were  then  led  towards  the  scaffold,  and  for  a  few  moments 
each  was  addressed  in  a  low  voice  by  the  confessor,  who  repeatedly 
put  to  their  mouths  a  small  crucifix  to  kiss. 

Pepin  was  the  first  to  mount  the  fatal  platform.  He  was  a 
short  thin  man,  and  his  face  was  ghastly  pale,  but  calm.  He 
turned  round,  and  exclaimed,  *  I  die  innocent,  I  die  a  victim  ; 
farewell  to  you  all.'  He  was  then  seized  by  the  executioners, 
who  stripped  off  his  coat,  pinioned  his  arms  behind,  and  led 
him  to  an  upright  plank,  extending  to  the  top  of  his  breast,  to 
which  he  was  securely  strapped.  This  plank,  moving  on  a  pivot, 
was  then  placed  in  a  horizontal  position,  and  slid  between  the 
two  upright  bars  sustaining  the  knife,  with  the  back  of  the  cul 
prit's  neck  directly  beneath  it.  At  a  signal  the  cord  was 
loosened,  and  in  an  instant  the  head  was  severed  from  the  body, 
and  fell  into  a  basket  below  ;  the  bleeding  trunk  was  then  un 
strapped,  and  thrown  into  another  basket  on  the  side.  The 


Paris  Revisitea.  335 


noise  of  the  knife,  which  was  heavily  weighted,  had  a  dull  chop 
ping  sound,  and  sent  a  quiver  through  all  who  heard  it.  The 
effect  on  the  two  wretches  whose  turn  was  yet  to  come  must 
have  been  agonising. 

Morey  was  the  next  to  ascend  the  steps  of  the  guillotine. 
He  was  an  old  man,  and  so  enfeebled  by  illness  that  he  had  to 
be  supported.  '  Assist  me/  he  said  ;  '  the  spirit  is  strong,  but 
the  body  is  weak/  His  countenance,  though  wan,  betrayed  no 
signs  of  fear.  It  had  a  cold  austere  expression.  When  a  black- 
silk  cap  was  removed  from  his  head,  his  gray  hair  fluttered  in  the 
breeze.  He  showed  no  desire  to  speak.  As  his  upper  garments 
were  somewhat  roughly  stripped  off  by  the  executioner,  he  cried 
out,  in  an  angry  tone,  *  Pourquoi  dechirez-vous  mon  gilet  ?'  (Why 
are  you  tearing  my  waistcoat  ?)  Strange  protest  at  such  an  awful 
juncture  !  A  few  moments  later  he  had  ceased  to  exist. 

The  greatest  criminal  had  been  purposely  reserved  to  the 
last,  as  an  aggravation  of  his  punishment.  He  naturally  turned 
away  his  eyes  from  the  guillotine  during  the  execution  of  his 
accomplices. 

'  You  are  afraid  to  look  upon  it,'  said  an  officer  standing  near 
him.' 

'  Non  past  he  replied,  '  mais  je  ne  veux  pas  braver  mes  cama- 
rades'  (I  am  not,  but  I  do  not  wish  to  brave  my  companions). 

He  certainly  displayed  the  utmost  intrepidity.  When  his 
turn  came,  he  said  to  his  confessor,  *  How  I  should  like  to  be  able 
in  five  minutes  from  this  time  to  come  and  tell  you  how  I  feel !' 
and  then,  with  a  firm  and  easy  step,  he  ascended  the  guillotine. 
Turning  round,  and  assuming  an  oratorical  attitude,  he  made  a 
short  address,  declaring  his  repentance,  and  imploring  pardon  of 
God  for  the  crime  he  had  committed.  Bowing  to  the  right  and 
left,  he  then  advanced  with  a  quick  stride,  as  if  to  show  his  readi 
ness  to  meet  death,  and  delivered  himself  up  to  the  executioners. 
In  another  minute  he  joined  his  guilty  associates  in  eternity. 

I  gazed  fixedly  on  this  terrible  tragedy  in  a  sort  of  stupor. 
My  eyes  never  wandered  for  an  instant,  as  though  spellbound 
by  the  hideous  scene,  and  my  feelings  seemed  benumbed  with 
horror.  My  companion  fell  back,  almost  fainting,  after  the  first 
death,  and  closed  his  ears  to  the  revolting  echo  of  the  axe  as  it 
struck  the  block.  The  execution  was  scarcely  over,  when  the 
troops  began  marching  rapidly  away.  I  left  my  place  of  refuge 
to  retire,  but,  almost  unconsciously,  followed  a  number  of  people 


336  Paris  Revisited. 


who,  seeing  the  guillotine  apparently  unguarded,  approached, 
from  a  morbid  curiosity,  to  inspect  it  more  closely.  It  was  drip 
ping  with  gore,  and  the  baskets  containing  the  heads  and  bodies 
presented  a  frightful  spectacle.  The  crowd  increased  every 
moment,  and,  to  disperse  it,  a  charge  of  cavalry  was  suddenly 
made.  My  only  chance  of  escape  was  to  leap  precipitately  on 
the  box  of  one  of  the  coaches  that  had  conveyed  the  prisoners. 
As  soon  as  I  could  venture  to  descend  I  hastened  away,  and, 
for  some  time  after,  was  haunted  by  the  sickening  sight  I  had 
foolishly  resolved  to  witness.  A  few  days  later,  it  was  stated 
that  the  keeper  of  a  low  cafe  had  hired  the  late  mistress  of 
Fieschi,  a  girl  by  name  of  Nina  Lassave,  to  attend  upon  his  cus 
tomers.  The  curious  flocked  to  the  place,  and  it  became  a  sort 
of  exhibition,  which  numerous  journals  denounced  as  an  outrage. 
The  police  soon  put  an  end  to  it. 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

ARRIVAL  OF  MR.  WILKINS — A  DINNER  MISCARRIED — COLONEL  THORN  AND  A  MAN 
FROM  TENNESSEE — A  CONVERSATION  WITH  THE  KING. 

To  my  great  delight,  towards  the  end  of  March,  Mr.  Wilkins, 
whom  I  had  left  in  St.  Petersburg  some  seven  months  agOi 
arrived  in  Paris  on  his  way  home.  He  had  resigned  his  mission, 
saying  it  was  too  great  a  sacrifice  to  give  up  family,  friends,  and 
congenial  occupations  for  the  mere  honour  of  an  official  residence 
abroad.  He  was  glad  to  have  witnessed  the  splendours  of  the 
Russian  capital ;  but  he  was  still  more  glad  to  know  that,  at  no 
very  distant  period,  he  would  again  be  a  resident  of  Pittsburg, 
whose  sooty  charms  were  only  enhanced  by  his  enforced  absence. 
It  was  easy  to  see  he  spoke  the  truth,  for  he  was  full  of  buoyancy 
and  gaiety — quite  a  different  man  from  what  I  remembered  him. 
He  had  never  been  in  Paris,  and  was  desirous  to  see  it  in  all  its 
seductive  phases.  I  was  too  happy  to  put  my  services  as  cicerone 
at  his  command  ;  and  for  a  month  I  was  almost  constantly  at 
his  side,  conducting  him  over  the  curiosities  of  the  town,  or 
accompanying  him  to  dinners  and  parties. 

With  all  his  gentleness  and  good-nature  I  was  surprised  to 
see  how  quickly  he  resented  even  an  imaginary  slight.  We  were 
invited  to  dine  one  evening  with  Mr.  Lewis  Rogers,  an  American, 
long  resident  in  Paris,  and  well  known  in  the  best  French 
society.  He  was  famous  as  an  epicure,  and  his  dinners  at  the 
Rocher  de  Cancale,  the  first  restaurant  of  Europe,  were  worthy  of 
Lucullus.  I  looked  forward  to  a  rare  feast,  for,  though  no  gour 
mand^  I  was  willing  to  take  my  place  among  the  gourmet ls,  which 
simply  means  that  while  the  first  eat  for  the  love  of  it,  the  second 
are  only  attracted  by  tits-bits  of  exceptional  delicacy.  At  the 
appointed  hour  I  accompanied  Mr.  Wilkins  to  the  renowned 
restaurant,  and  on  entering  the  salon  found  several  of  the  guests 
assembled  there.  Mr.  Wilkins  looked  round  for  his  host,  and  was 
told  he  had  not  yet  arrived.  Regarding  his  watch,  and  finding 

z 


33  8  Paris  Revisited. 


several  minutes  after  the  time  of  invitation  had  elapsed,  he  said 
to  me  quietly,  c  I  consider  this  very  rude.  Stay  if  you  please, 
but  I  am  going.'  I  followed  him  down-stairs,  seeking  to  extenu 
ate  the  remissness  of  my  friend  Rogers,  but  in  vain.  He  got  in 
his  carriage,  and  we  drove  back  to  his  hotel,  where  we  dined 
alone.  Thus  most  unexpectedly  I  lost  a  display  of  French  culi 
nary  skill,  that  I  afterwards  heard  had  never  been  surpassed. 
Poor  Rogers  made  a  thousand  explanations  and  apologies,  but 
the  punctilious  plenipotentiary  would  never  accept  another  invi 
tation. 

Not  long  after  this  I  called  one  day  with  Mr.  Wilkins  to  be 
presented  to  a  countryman  of  ours,  who  was  then  the  talk  of  the 
beau  monde  of  Paris.  I  refer  to  Colonel  Thorn  of  New  York, 
who  was  living  in  a  style  of  princely  splendour  that  eclipsed  all 
rivalry.  I  had  often  heard  of  his  grand  entertainments,  whilst 
his  beautiful  equipages  frequently  attracted  my  admiring  notice 
in  the  streets.  His  high-bred  horses  and  costly  carriages  were 
not  surpassed  even  by  royalty.  The  French  were  astonished  at 
such  sumptuousness  in  an  American,  tor  at  that  time  millionaires 
were  scarce  in  the  United  States ;  but  they  were  still  more  sur 
prised  at  the  lofty  social  position  he  had  obtained,  for  his  mansion 
was  the  resort  of  all  the  foreign  ambassadors  as  well  as  of  the 
leading  nobility  of  France  and  of  Europe.  It  must  have  required 
infinite  tact,  even  more  than  money,  to  have  reached  such  a  pin 
nacle  as  this.  I  was  glad  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  a  country 
man  who  had  achieved  such  fashionable  distinction,  and  at  a 
time,  too,  when  Americans  were  little  known  in  Court  circles, 
and  were  unfairly  regarded  as  an  unpolished  and  ill-mannered 
people. 

I  found  Colonel  Thorn  a  person  of  very  imposing  appearance, 
somewhat  above  medium  height,  with  a  strikingly  handsome 
face  that  wore  an  expression  of  tranquil  reserve.  Perfectly  self- 
possessed  in  manner,  without  affectation  or  pretension,  there 
was  nothing  in  air  or  tone  to  convey  the  impression  of  a  parvenu. 
There  was  much  natural  dignity,  but  no  animation  or  sprightli- 
ness  in  gesture  or  conversation.  We  left  him  after  a  pleasant 
chat,  cheerfully  accepting  an  invitation  to  dinner  for  the  following 
Monday.  Mr.  Wilkins  informed  me  that  Colonel  Thorn  had 
begun  his  career  in  our  navy,  but  that  his  good  looks  won  the 
affections  of  Miss  Jauncey,  a  great  heiress,  who  married  him 
against  her  fathers  wish. 


Paris  Revisited.  339 


My  second  visit  to  dine  afforded  an  opportunity  to  survey 
the  superb  residence  of  my  countryman.  It  was  royal  property, 
belonging  to  Madame  Adelaide,  sister  of  the  King,  and  I  con 
sidered  25,000  dollars  a  year  as  a  moderate  rent.  The  courtyard 
was  of  vast  extent.  An  antechamber  led  to  an  apartment  of  extra 
ordinary  splendour,  which  opened  on  either  side  into  two  other 
saloons  of  equal  extent  and  richness.  At  the  extremity,  on  the 
right  wing,  was  the  banqueting-hall,  of  regal  dimensions,  suc 
ceeded  by  a  family  dining-room  of  smaller  size.  The  left  wing 
consisted  of  a  ballroom  worthy  of  a  palace.  The  furniture 
throughout  was  of  the  costliest  description,  mostly  in  gilt  and 
damask.  The  windows  in  the  rear  commanded  a  garden  of  un 
usual  space  filled  with  flowers,  fountains,  and  lofty  trees.  At 
this  season  of  the  year  it  was  an  enchanting  background. 

I  was  presented  on  this  occasion  to  Mrs.  Thorn,  a  tall  and 
handsome  woman  of  unassuming  and  affable  demeanour.  She 
had  a  numerous  family,  all  remarkable  for  exceeding  comeliness. 
The  company  comprised  two  foreign  ambassadors  and  many 
persons  of  rank.  None  of  the  ladies  present  could  vie  in  beauty 
with  Miss  Talmadge  of  New  York,  who  was  now  travelling  in 
Europe  with  her  father.  It  was  no  wonder  a  buzz  of  admiration 
followed  her,  for  in  feature  and  complexion  she  was  absolutely 
faultless,  and  not  less  so  in  figure.  Some  thought  her  attrac 
tions  would  have  been  enhanced  by  more  animation ;  and  whether 
it  was  from  the  constant  homage  paid  her,  or  from  temperament, 
she  was  somewhat  less  vivacious  than  most  American  women. 
I  was  much  struck  by  the  appearance  and  manner  of  one  of  the 
American  guests,  Captain  Ramsey  of  the  U.S.  army.  In  refine 
ment  of  tone  and  bearing  he  impressed  me  as  quite  a  model 
gentleman.  He  had  come  to  Europe  recently  in  consequence 
of  a  severe  domestic  bereavement,  which  threw  a  tinge  of  melan 
choly  over  his  mien  and  conversation.  I  became  very  intimate 
with  him,  and  derived  unqualified  pleasure  from  his  agreeable 
society.  The  dinner  was  served  with  great  elegance,  and  the 
dessert-service,  I  remarked,  was  of  the  rarest  Sevres  porcelain. 
The  numerous  servants  were  attired  in  showy  liveries. 

During  the  evening  I  had  a  chat  with  my  host,  who  com 
plained  with  some  emphasis  of  the  unreasonable  conduct  of 
not  only  Americans,  but  of  many  foreigners  visiting  Paris. 

'  Constantly/  he  said,  '  I  receive  cards  from  persons  I  don't 
know,  and  which  are  frequently  followed  by  letters  expressing 


34°  Paris  Revisited. 


lively  indignation  at  my  not  inviting  them  to  my  house.  I  never 
fail  to  honour  all  introductions  that  are  brought ;  but  to  expect 
me  to  entertain  strangers  who  have  no  claim  whatever  is 
simply  absurd.' 

After  running  on  in  this  strain  for  a  time,  he  related  the  fol 
lowing  incident  as  by  no  means  of  unusual  occurrence. 

'  A  short  time  ago/  he  continued,  '  some  one  called  and  de 
sired  to  see  me.  I  sent  for  his  card  ;  but  he  had  none,  he  said, 
and  promised  not  to  detain  me  five  minutes.  I  ordered  him  to 
be  admitted,  when  a  tall  gaunt  man,  somewhat  roughly  dressed, 
presented  himself. 

"  I  am  a  stranger,  Mr.  Thorn,"  he  explained,  "  from  the  far 
West.  I  have  seen  pretty  much  everything  in  Paris  ;  but  I  have 
heard  that  your  house  is  one  of  the  sights,  and  I  thought  I'd  just 
come  over  and  have  a  look  at  it." 

'  He  was  serenely  unconscious,  I  could  perceive,  that  there 
was  anything  at  all  irregular  in  his  demand,  and  his  good-natured 
face  rather  won  upon  me. 

"  I  am  not  in  the  habit,"  I  replied,  "  of  making  an  exhibition 
of  my  house  ;  but  as  you  seem  so  curious,  I  will  take  you  over  it." 

'  He  followed  me  through  the  rooms,  examining  quite  minutely 
the  furniture,  pictures,  and  statuary,  indulging  frequently  in 
strong  Western  exclamations  of  delight.  All  went  on  satisfac 
torily  till  we  came  to  the  ballroom,  which  he  had  hardly  en 
tered  before  he  slipped  on  its  highly  waxed  floor,  and  came 
down  at  full  length.  I  apologised  for  not  having  warned  him 
in  time  of  its  treacherous  surface,  and,  getting  up  quite  confused, 
he  asked  me  to  assist  him  to  the  door. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Thorn,"  he  remarked,  "  the  next  time  I  go  into 
that  room,  I  guess  I'll  put  on  a  pair  of  skates." 

'  Anxious  to  make  amends  for  his  mishap,  I  asked  him  if  he 
would  like  to  come  and  dine  with  me  that  evening,  and  I  would 
introduce  him  to  my  family. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind,"  he  answered  ;  "  but  I  have  had  my 
dinner  long  ago.  I'll  come  to  supper,  if  you  choose." 

"  Very  well,"  I  returned  ;  "  come  at  eight  o'clock,  and  you 
shall  have  whatever  you  like  best." 

'  He  reappeared  punctually  at  the  hour  named,  and  had  evi 
dently  bestowed  some  attention  on  his  toilette.  His  frock-coat  had 
quite  a  new  gloss,  and  his  boots  had  been  duly  polished  for  the 
occasion.  Mrs.  Thorn  and  the  children,  to  whom  I  had  related 


Paris  Revisited.  341 


his  morning's  visit,  received  him  with  great  cordiality.  He  chatted 
on  without  the  least  embarrassment.  He  declared  the  supper, 
as  he  called  it,  the  best  he  had  eaten  in  Eu-rope.  My  daughters 
played  and  sang  for  him  during  the  evening,  and  he  went  away 
asserting  that  he  did  not  expect  to  enjoy  himself  as  much  again 
till  he  got  back  to  Tennessee.  Now,'  added  Colonel  Thorn, 
*  if  I  could  be  sure  that  all  the  strangers  who  call  here  were  as 
nai've  and  amusing  as  my  Western  visitor,  I  might  be  somewhat 
less  cautious.' 

During  Mr.  Wilkins's  stay  in  Paris  he  was  presented  to  the 
King.  I  accompanied  him  on  the  evening  appointed  at  ten 
o'clock  to  the  palace.  We  were  conducted  to  the  Salle  des  Mare- 
chaux,  and  informed  that  the  King  had  a  dinner-party,  but  that 
we  should  not  have  long  to  wait.  Whilst  we  were  inspecting 
the  portraits  of  the  various  distinguished  marshals  adorning  this 
beautiful  apartment,  the  doors  were  thrown  open,  and  the  King, 
the  Queen,  and  royal  family  entered,  followed  by  their  guests, 
all  arrayed  in  uniform  or  Court  dress.  The  King  immediately 
asked  for  the  American  Minister,  who  was  forthwith  presented. 
A  little  formal  conversation  ensued,  when  his  Majesty  wandered 
on  to  speak  to  some  of  his  Ministers  and  generals  who  had 
arrived  after  us.  I  could  detect  at  once  that  Mr.  Wilkins,  who 
was  a  man  of  courtly  manners  and  very  pleasing  appearance, 
had  made  a  favourable  impression  on  the  King,  and  my  sus 
picion  soon  proved  to  be  correct ;  for  after  he  had  exchanged 
salutations  with  his  later  guests  he  came  back  to  our  Minister, 
and  said  he  would  like  to  talk  with  him  for  a  few  moments  about 
Russia.  Louis  Philippe,  without  the  aid  of  'the  divinity  that 
doth  hedge  a  king/  was  really  a  fascinating  man.  There  was 
a  geniality  of  manner  that  put  every  one  at  ease  that  he  ad 
dressed.  There  was  not  a  spice  of  haughtiness  in  his  counten 
ance  or  bearing.  He  had  undergone  such  strange  vicissitudes, 
and  seen  so  much  of  the  world,  that  he  had  lost  or  thrown  aside 
that  lofty  reserve  characteristic  of  royalty.  His  information  was 
immense,  and  he  talked  with  fluency,  though  with  a  certain 
deliberation.  He  especially  enjoyed  conversing  with  Americans, 
and  was  fond  of  referring  to  his  adventures  when  an  exile  in 
that  country.  After  asking  Mr.  Wilkins  various  questions  touch 
ing  his  residence  in  Russia,  and  speaking  highly  of  the  abilities 
of  his  '  brother,'  the  Emperor  Nicholas,  the  King  inquired  if  our 
Minister  was  pleased  with  Paris.  This  enabled  Mr.  Wilkins  to 


342  Paris  Revisited. 


state  that  it  was  the  most  beautiful  city  he  had  ever  beheld,  and 
that  he  noticed  in  every  direction  his  Majesty  was  striving  to 
make  it  the  most  desirable  residence  in  the  world. 

'  If  the  French/  he  added,  *  could  only  see  through  the  eyes 
of  foreigners,  they  would  appreciate  the  blessings  they  enjoy, 
and  be  less  hostile  to  the  Government.' 

This  adroit  compliment  seemed  to  touch  the  King,  and  a 
transient  shadow  crossed  his  face. 

1  Ah,  Mr.  Wilkins,'  he  exclaimed,  c  though  hardly  six  years 
upon  the  throne,  I  have  discovered  that  the  best  intentions  and 
most  anxious  efforts  avail  but  little.  It  is  true,  I  think,  the 
country  in  the  main  is  satisfied.  The  French  masses  are  the 
most  industrious  and  thrifty  people  in  the  world.  All  they 
want  is  to  pursue  their  avocations  in  peace  ;  and  my  resolution 
is  fixed  to  preserve  order  at  whatever  cost.  My  chief  difficul 
ties  are  with  the  politicians,  the  journalists,  and  fanatics.  All 
'of  them  are  full  of  theories  and  projects,  and  if  I  were  to  give 
way  to  their  crude  schemes,  the  country  would  be  plunged  in 
anarchy  and  war.  I  am  resolved  on  peace  abroad  and  tran 
quillity  at  home.' 

'  Your  Majesty/  said  our  Minister,  '  has  a  laborious  task 
indeed.  The  French,  with  all  their  intelligence,  are  impulsive 
and  flighty,  not  to  say  impracticable,  and  to  govern  them  for 
their  own  good  seems  to  me  well-nigh  impossible.' 

'  What  you  say/  returned  the  King, '  is  true  enough  as  applied 
to  the  classes  I  have  alluded  to.  The  great  body  of  the  people, 
I  repeat,  are  sensible  and  laborious.  I  have  no  fear  of  these. 
It  is  in  Paris  all  my  embarrassments  are  concentrated.  I  try  to 
appease  the  politicians  by  giving  power  in  turn  to  the  various 
leaders,  but  I  must  watch  vigilantly  to  prevent  their  abusing  it. 
The  journalists,  however,  are  my  greatest  plague.  Some  from 
vanity,  others  from  love  of  agitation,  every  day  propound  new 
plans  and  systems  of  government,  which  they  advocate  with 
passionate  vehemence.  Some  declare  parliamentary  govern 
ment  absurd  ;  others  support  it,  with  modifications.  Some  pro 
pose  universal  suffrage  ;  others  condemn  it  altogether.  Some 
recommend  free-trade  ;  others  absolute  protection.  Some  de 
mand  that  all  individual  property  should  be  abolished,  and  the 
Government  made  the  only  capitalist.  Some,  that  the  present 
form  of  society  should  be  superseded,  and  reconstructed  on  prin 
ciples  entirely  new.  All  these  wild  Utopias  seduce  the  ignorant 


Pans  Revisited.  343 


and  the  idle,  who  fancy  themselves  the  victims  of  intolerable 
tyranny,  and  are  ready  to  immolate  those  who  disagree  with  them.' 

'  These  latter,  I  infer,'  remarked  the  Minister,  '  become  the 
instruments  of  the  insurrections  so  common  in  Paris,  and  supply 
the  assassins  always  lying  in  wait  for  your  Majesty.' 

'  Just  so,'  said  the  King.  '  I  am  really  at  a  loss  to  know  how 
to  treat  these  harebrained  visionaries  of  the  press.  If  I  dis 
regard  them,  trade  and  commerce  protest  against  such  damaging 
agitation.  If  any  restraint  is  applied,  the  artful  gang  cry  out 
that  the  liberty  of  the  press  is  assailed.  Now,  in  England,  and 
in  your  country,  the  press  is  in  the  hands  of  sane  and  practical 
men,  who  tre  content  to  criticise  the  Government  without  seek 
ing  daily  to  overturn  it ;  who  busy  themselves  with  obtaining 
the  earliest  news  instead  of  concocting  senseless  essays  on  an 
ideal  state  of  society.' 

'  In  the  United  States,  as  in  England,'  observed  Mr.  Wilkins, 
'  public  opinion,  as  well  as  the  law,  exercises  a  salutary  restraint 
over  the  excesses  of  the  press,  which  are  only  exceptional.  How 
is  it,  your  Majesty,  that  public  opinion  in  France  has  so  little 
influence  over  the  literary  maniacs  in  question  ?' 

'  Public  opinion  with  us,'  said  the  King,  *  is  in  a  nebulous 
state  as  regards  politics.  After  the  overthrow  of  the  old 
monarchy  in  1789,  France  fell  into  anarchy.  All  that  existed 
was  destroyed.  Napoleon  reorganised  it  on  a  military  model. 
Since  then  parliamentary  government  has  been  imported  from 
England,  and  I  am  trying  conscientiously  to  keep  it  on  its  legs. 
But  it  is  a  new  thing,  and  no  one  is  sure  it  is  the  right  thing  ; 
consequently  there  is  no  settled  public  opinion  with  us  as  to 
the  best  form  of  government.  High,  middle,  and  lower  class  in 
France  are  all  adrift  on  this  vital  point.  Happily  for  you,  in  the 
United  States  there  is  no  doubt  on  that  subject.  A  cry  of 
"  Madman !"  would  be  heard  all  over  the  land  if  any  one  there 
attacked  the  Republican  form  adopted.  The  same  would  be  the 
case  in  England  if  any  one  denounced  limited  monarchy.  Whilst 
we  remain  in  this  unhappy  state  of  transition  we  are  at  the 
mercy  of  political  tinkers  of  every  kind.  The  old  nobility 
desire  to  set  up  the  old  monarchy.  The  ambitious  invoke  a 
republic.  Dreamers,  to  say  no  worse,  aim  at  communism.  All 
that  the  laborious  masses  require,  as  I  said  before,  is  good  order, 
and  they  care  not  whether  it  is  a  king,  an  emperor,  or  a  presi 
dent  who  maintains  it/ 


344  Paris  Revisited. 


*  Your  Majesty  has  enabled  me  to  understand  the  situation 
better  than  ever  before,  but  it  is  a  melancholy  picture.     Until 
the  mind  of  the  nation  is  made  up,  until  a  public  opinion  is 
established  as  to  the  form  of  government  best  adapted  to  France, 
I  can  see  nothing  but  periodical  disasters,  revolutions,  perhaps 
civil  wars.' 

'  Alas,  sir !'  responded  the  King,  looking  very  grave, '  that  is 
the  ordeal,  I  fear,  we  must  undergo,  until  a  stable  government  is 
found.  If  the  old  monarchy  had  been  reformed,  as  happened  in 
England,  and  not  torn  up  by  the  roots,  after  the  growth  of  cen 
turies,  we  should  not  now  be  all  afloat,  at  the  mercy  of  the  winds 
and  waves  of  faction,  a  prey  to  intriguing  politiciaas  and  crazy 
journalists.  You  see,'  added  the  King,  smiling  sadly,  '  I  am  not 
reposing  on  a  bed  of  roses.' 

'  The  task  is  so  formidable,1   replied  Mr.  Wilkins,  '  and  the 

result  so  uncertain,  that  I  wonder  your  Majesty  ever  left  the 

palace  of  your  ancestors  to  venture  on  so  perilous  a  sea.     The 

.sort  of  government  adapted  to  France  is  indeed  a  mysterious 

jproblem.     A  limited  monarchy,  like  that  of  England,  requires 

•^conscientious  statesmen  to  administer  it ;  a  republic  like  ours 

i needs  a  sagacious  people  to  control  it.     I  fear  neither  of  these 

*  exist  in  France,  and  I  really  despair  of  her  future.' 

•*  I  do  not,'  said  the  King  energetically.  *  The  French  are 
.  a  remarkable  people,  if  you  will  permit  me  to  extol  my  own 
countrymen.  History  proves  they  are  intelligent,  courageous, 
and  wonderfully  buoyant.  They  will  never  succumb.  It  may 
i  not  be  my  lot  to  lead  them  to  the  promised  land,  but  they  will 
(ultimately  reach  it.  New  political  creeds  will  succeed  each 
other ;  fresh  apostles  will  rise  and  fall  ;  but  every  experiment 
;.and  failure  will  add  to  the  experience  of  the  nation,  until  finally 
speculators  and  adventurers  will  find  it  hard  to  mislead  it,  and 
then  France  will  become  an  example,  instead  of  a  warning,  to 
other  communities.' 

'  God  grant  it  may  be  so,'  responded  our  Minister,  with  much 
earnestness. 

*  Amen   to  your  friendly  invocation,'   rejoined    the    King, 
shaking  hands  with  him.     '  I  bid  you  good-night,  Mr.  Wilkins, 
but  expect  you  to  dine  with  me  before  you  leave  Paris.' 

'  I  am  at  your  Majesty's  orders/  answered  the  Minister,  in 
the  true  tone  of  a  courtier,  showing  that  his  residence  in  Russia 
had  not  been  lost  upon  him. 


Paris  Revisited.  345 


As  we  went  down  the  stairs  of  the  palace,  Mr.  Wilkins 
remarked, 

' "  Uneasy  lies  the  head  that  wears  a  crown.**  I  would  not 
be  in  the  King's  place  for  all  the  wealth  of  the  Indies.' 

1  You  would  prefer,'  I  suggested  playfully,  '  the  post  of 
United  States  Senator,  or  even  Mayor  of  Pittsburgh 

'  A  thousand  times  over,'  exclaimed  Mr.  Wilkins  emphati 
cally,  as  he  stepped  into  his  carriage. 

Next  day  he  received  a  summons  to  dine  at  the  palace.  He 
told  me  afterwards  it  was  not  exceeded  in  splendour  by  any 
thing  he  had  witnessed  at  the  Russian  Court.  He  was  charmed 
with  the  gracious  Queen,  Marie  Amelie,  whose  countenance,  he 
remarked,  was  full  of  anxiety  and  trouble. 

(  There  was  not  a  day/  she  observed  to  him,  ( that  she  did 
not  tremble  for  the  King's  life.' 

He  reminded  me  of  his  conversation  with  the  Empress  of 
Russia,  when  she  betrayed  a  similar  unhappy  state  of  mind. 

'  It  is  strange/  he  added,  '  that  in  my  short  experience  abroad 
the  wearers  of  two  of  the  most  brilliant  crowns  in  Europe  should 
have  declared  to  me  that  their  lives  were  full  of  care,  and  their 
hearts  preyed  upon  by  apprehensions  of  the  most  torturing 
nature.' 

'  It  must  be  a  dreadful  thing/  I  moralised,  '  to  feel  that  the 
sword  of  Damocles  is  for  ever  suspended  over  your  head.' 

On  the  eve  of  his  departure  Mr.  Wilkins  said  to  me, 

4 1  hope  to  find  in  London  Mr.  Andrew  Stevenson,  our  new 
Minister  to  that  Court ;  and,  if  you  would  like  it,  I  will  recom 
mend  you  strongly  as  an  attache  to  his  Legation.' 

'  Nothing  would  give  me  greater  pleasure/  I  assured  him, 
4  than  to  occupy  such  a  position,  as  it  would  enable  me  to  see 
something  of  the  exclusive  society  of  England,  almost  inacces 
sible  to  an  unofficial  American.' 

Some  ten  days  later  I  received  the  following  letter  from  him, 
which  will  be  read  with  interest  by  all  who  knew  him,  as  it 
conveys  such  a  genuine  impression  of  his  amiable  character  and 
playful  disposition : 

London,  April  30,  1836. 

My  dear  Wikoff, — I  have  but  a  moment  left,  and  only  a 
word  to  say.  I  am  off  at  half-past  nine  o'clock  for  Portsmouth, 
with  the  intention  to  sail  to-morrow  in  the  '  Philadelphia/  Cap 
tain  Morgan,  for  New  York.  A  few  days  ago- 1  received  from 


346  Paris  Revisited. 


the  State  Department  the  long-wished-for  letter  of  permission  to 
resign  and  return  home.  Among  my  fellow-passengers  I  hear 
of  Dr.  Delancy,  and  of  Dr.  Mott  and  family.  No  doubt  we  shall 
be  a  motley  crew. 

I  thank  you  with  all  my  heart  for  your  letter  and  the  ring. 
My  daughter,  I  hope,  will  have  an  opportunity  of  thanking  you 
in  person  one  day  or  another. 

Mr.  Stevenson  has  not  yet  arrived,  but  will  be  here,  I  pre 
sume,  before  very  long.  I  send  you  the  enclosed  introduction. 

Remember  me  warmly  to  Ramsey,  Carroll,  the  Tuckers,  to 
Mr.  Brent,  the  Consul,  and  by  all  means  to  the  lovely  Miss 
Talmadge.  Take  her  by  the  hand,  and  give  it  an  affectionate 
squeeze  for  me.  To  her  father  also  say  all  that  is  kind  for 
me.  Tell  him  I  would  write  to  him,  but  I  have  not  a  word  of 
news  or  science  for  him.  God  bless  you  ! — In  haste,  most  truly 
yours, 

WM.  WILKINS. 

I  am  tempted  to  copy  the  introduction  to  Mr.  Stevenson 
alluded  to,  as  a  flattering  testimonial  of  his  regard  : 

London,  April  30,  1836. 

HON.  ANDREW  STEVENSON. 

Dear  Sir, — I  cordially  congratulate  you.  I  wish  I  could 
have  met  you  here,  but  I  depart  to-day  for  our  blessed  native 
land. 

I  shall  leave  this  letter  with  Henry  WikofT,  Esq.,  of  Phila 
delphia,  for  the  purpose  of  introducing  him  to  you.  I  first  met 
him  in  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  came  recommended  to  me  by 
the  late  Roberts  Vaux  of  Philadelphia,  and  Mr.  Martin  Van 
Buren.  I  have  since  met  him  in  Paris.  He  is  a  young  gentle 
man  of  fortune,  of  superior  intelligence,  and  of  the  most  correct 
deportment.  I  feel  much  interested  in  his  welfare,  and  beg  you 
to  do  me  the  favour  to  extend  to  him  your  kind  attentions. 
Should  you  have  an  attatAS-$hip  to  your  Legation  to  confer,  I  am 
sure  you  will  find  him  eminently  worthy  of  your  confidence 

Your  reception  here  will  be  a  cordial  one,  and  I  wish  you  all 
manner  of  happiness. — Yours  very  truly, 

WM.  WILKINS. 

Knowing  the  intimacy  and  cordial  regard  that  existed  be 
tween  our  late  Minister  to  St.  Petersburg  and  the  forthcoming 


Paris  Revisited.  347 


Minister  to  the  Court  of  St.  James,  I  could  not  help  placing  con 
siderable  reliance  on  this  hearty  recommendation,  and  I  looked 
forward  to  the  prospect  of  being  connected  with  the  American 
Legation  in  London  with  lively  satisfaction.  I  was  well  aware 
that  it  would  afford  me  facilities  of  access  to  the  Court  circles  of 
England  not  otherwise  attainable  ;  and  I  felt  a  natural  longing  to 
see  something  of  the  inner  life  of  that  brilliant  society  whose 
sayings  and  doings  had  been  the  theme  of  so  many  sparkling 
writers  of  fiction. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

A  FATAL  DUEL — A  SORCERESS — DR.  MOTT — ANOTHER  ATTEMPT  ON  THE  KING. 

WHILST  I  was  still  in  Paris  an  event  occurred  that  created  no 
little  sensation.  A  violent  quarrel  broke  out  between  Armand 
Carrel  and  Emile  de  Girardin,  two  of  the  most  prominent  jour 
nalists  of  Paris.  Carrel,  formerly  an  officer  in  the  army,  was  the 
editor  of  the  National,  the  organ  of  the  Democratic  party.  It  had 
been  founded  early  in  1830  by  Thiers  and  Carrel,  and  did  much  to 
hasten  the  Revolution  that  overthrew  Charles  X.  This  accom 
plished,  the  astute  Thiers  withdrew,  and  left  Carrel  as  sole  editor, 
who  was  implacable  in  his  opposition  to  Louis  Philippe,  and 
openly  advocated  a  republic.  Girardin  was  quite  an  extra 
ordinary  person.  He  began  his  career  as  a  clerk  in  the  office  of 
a  Stock  Exchange  broker,  under  the  name  of  Emile  Delamothe. 
He  then  published  a  book  called  Emile,  describing  his  early  life, 
and  announced  that  he  was  the  natural  son  of  General  Count  de 
Girardin.  From  that  time  he  assumed  his  father's  name. 

He  was  an  able  writer,  very  audacious,  and  displayed  an 
activity  really  startling.  He  adopted  the  press  as  a  profession  • 
but  instead  of  using  it,  like  all  the  writers  of  the  day,  to  achieve 
political  influence,  he  aspired  simply  to  make  it  a  source  of 
wealth.  He  established  in  succession  several  journals,  at  prices 
so  far  below  the  usual  standard  that  an  immense  circulation  was 
the  result.  He  then  appealed  to  the  world  of  trade  to  advertise 
at  moderate  rates  in  journals  so  widely  read  ;  which  was  re 
sponded  to,  and  he  accumulated  money  rapidly.  This  was  some 
thing  entirely  new,  and  was  justly  considered  a  revolution.  The 
entire  press  of  Paris  fell  into  hysterics  of  disgust  at  this  daring 
attempt  to  degrade  journalism  to  the  level  of  a  mere  commercial 
medium.  Girardin  met  the  fate  of  all  reformers.  He  was  attacked, 
vilified,  and  denounced  by  the  journalists,  who  considered  their 
very  existence  endangered 

'  What/  they  cried,  '  convert  journalism  into  a  vulgar  trade, 
whid  rightly  viewed,  is  a  magistracy,  nay,  a  priesthood !  Whatj, 


Pans  Revisited.  349 


employ  the  press  as  a  vehicle  for  mendacious  advertisements,  for 
the  self-commendations  of  quackery  and  imposture,  and  make  it 
the  mere  speaking-trumpet  of  speculation — the  press,  that  should 
be  consecrated  to  philosophy,  history,  literature,  the  arts,  to  all 
which  elevates  and  delights  the  mind  of  man  !' 

These  fine  phrases  conveyed  the  notions  prevalent  in  Paris  of 
the  mission  of  the  press.  Up  to  this  time  the  French  papers  de 
rived  their  revenue  from  high-priced  subscriptions,  and  were  read 
solely  for  their  political  articles.  The  papers  that  supported  the 
Ministers  of  the  day  were  subsidised  by  the  Government.  No> 
one  thought,  as  I  have  remarked,  of  looking  to  the  papers  for 
news  or  for  advertisements,  as  neither  were  ever  found  there. 
This  was  the  happy  state  of  things  when  the  iconoclast  Girardin 
broke  into  the  temple,  and  threw  the  priesthood  into  dire  con 
fusion.  Yet  all  that  he  thought  of  was  to  attract  an  advertising 
patronage  with  a  view  to  profit.  It  never  even  occurred  to  him 
that  news  had  any  charm  for  a  Frenchman.  He  was  so  suc 
cessful,  however,  that  he  was  soon  able  to  establish  a  first-class 
daily  journal,  La  Presse,  which  he  sold  for  less  than  half  the 
usual  price. 

At  last  the  patience  of  his  adversaries  gave  way,  and  a  sum 
mary  mode  of  dealing  with  him  was  resolved  on.  Against  some 
of  the  bitterest  attacks  upon  him  Girardin  had  contented  him 
self  with  simply  appealing  to  the  law.  At  this  stage,  Carrel, 
who  was  the  head  and  front  of  the  Democratic  party,  and,  from  his 
military  training,  more  given  to  the  pistol  than  the  pen,  stepped 
forward  to  vindicate  the  philosophical,  historical,  literary,  and 
artistic  press  against  the  interloper  who  had  desecrated  it  by 
attempting  to  make  it  the  organ  of  *  vulgar  trade/  He  wrote  an 
article,  therefore,  in  his  own  journal,  the  National,  meant  to  draw 
a  reply  from  Girardin,  who  responded  next  day  in  La  Presse,  and 
with  such  spirit  as  to  give  Carrel  the  pretext  he  wanted.  Putting 
on  his  hat,  and  accompanied  by  a  friend,  he  strode  off  to  the 
office  of  Girardin,  paper  in  hand,  and,  pointing  out  the  offensive 
article,  demanded  if  he  were  the  author. 

*  I  am,'  said  the  innovator,  with  unruffled  composure. 

'  Then,'  said  the  grim  Carrel,  '  I  require  a  full  and  immediate 
apology.' 

•  *  Allow  me  to  inquire  if  you  wrote  the  lampoon  upon  me/ 
said  Girardin. 

'I  did,'  was  the  reply. 


350  Paris  Revisited. 


'  Then/  continued  Girardin, '  apology  for  apology.' 

'  It  seems  to  me,  sir/  remarked  Carrel,  '  that  your  intention 
is  to  bring  this  matter  to  a  duel.' 

'A  duel  with  such  a  man  as  you,  sir/  said  Girardin,  with  a 
polite  bow,  'would  really  be  a  bonne  fortune! 

This  complimentary  rejoinder  no  doubt  stung  Carrel,  for, 
rising  with  his  eyes  flashing,  he  said,  'As  I  am  the  offended 
party,  I  choose  the  pistol/  and  he  stalked  to  the  door. 

'  So  be  it/  answered  his  antagonist,  who  went  on  writing  at 
his  desk. 

The  same  night  the  respective  seconds  met,  and  arranged 
for  the  duel  to  take  place  early  next  morning.  Carrel  had 
frequently  figured  in  affairs  of  honour,  and  this  was  Girardin's 
fourth  experience  in  the  same  line.  Neither,  therefore,  was  a 
neophyte  in  this  bloody  business. 

At  dawn  next  day  the  two  journalists  met  once  more  in  the 
Bois  de  Vincennes.  Whilst  the  pistols  were  loading,  Carrel  said 
to  his  adversary, '  Should  the  chance  be  against  me,  sir,  and  you 
should  write  any  statement  of  this  affair,  you  will,  in  all  honour, 
adhere  strictly  and  simply  to  the  facts  ?* 

1  Yes,  sir/  briefly  replied  Girardin. 

When  all  was  ready  the  combatants  took  their  places.  The 
seconds  had  measured  a  distance  of  forty  paces.  The  principals 
were  to  advance  within  twenty  paces  of  each  other,  firing  at  their 
option.  Carrel  immediately  advanced,  disregarding  the  entrea 
ties  of  his  seconds  to  show  less  front.  Girardin  advanced  at  the 
same  time,  and  both  fired  nearly  at  the  same  moment ;  and  both 
fell  wounded,  the  first  in  the  groin,  the  latter  in  the  leg.  Carrel 
was  promptly  raised  by  his  friends  and  carried  off  the  ground. 
As  he  passed  Girardin,  who  was  still  prostrate,  he  politely  said, 
'  I  hope,  sir,  you  are  not  in  much  pain  /  to  which  Girardin  as 
courteously  responded. 

The  unfortunate  Carrel  was  fatally  hurt.  The  ball  had 
pierced  the  intestines,  and,  after  lingering  in  great  agony  for 
nearly  two  days,  he  died.  He  was  a  high-toned  loyal  man, 
greatly  respected  by  all.  His  friends  adored  him,  and  they  vowed 
vengeance  against  Girardin.  His  house  was  daily  flooded  with 
new  challenges,  and  insults  awaited  him  whenever  he  appeared. 
It  is  said  Girardin  was  much  distressed  by  the  tragic  result  of 
the  duel,  and  resolved  to  fight  no  more.  He  was  quite  resolute 
enousrh  to  adhere  to  his  detc:  mination. 


Paris  Revisited.  3  5 1 


I  was  induced  one  morning,  by  a  lady-friend,  to  accompany 
her  to  see  one  of  the  celebrities  of  Paris,  Mdlle.  Lenormand,  the 
famous  fortune-teller.  It  is  strange  that  in  our  enlightened 
century,  which  boasts  of  the  'schoolmaster  abroad/  that  the 
votaries  of  the  occult  science  should  still  be  found  in  all  ranks  of 
society,  and  that  implicit  faith  is  still  put  in  the  oracles  of  divi 
nation.  There  is  no  trait  of  our  mental  constitution  more  in 
eradicable  than  superstition,  a  tendency  to  believe  in  omens  and 
prognostics.  Of  course  it  prevails  in  different  degrees,  and  is 
strongest  among  those  whose  imaginations  are  the  most  sus 
ceptible.  There  are  individuals  whose  reason  is  so  robust  as  to 
set  augury  at  defiance ;  but  with  not  a  few  men,  and  many 
women,  there  is  a  proneness  to  the  supernatural,  a  disposition  to 
listen  to  those  who  profess  the  power 

'  to  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 
And  say  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not.1 

It  is  not  so  very  many  years  ago  when  witchcraft  was 
punished  in  prosaic  England  with  death.  It  was  as  late  as  1815 
that  Mesmer  died,  the  German  physician,  who  really  performed 
wonders  by  means  of  *  animal  magnetism,'  as  he  styled  it,  but 
which  was  regarded  by  thousands  as  a  supernatural  agent  That 
credulity  was  not  seriously  on  the  decrease  was  proved  by  the  fact 
that  Mdlle.  Lenormand,  up  to  that  day,  was  doing  a  thriving 
business  in  her  art  of  divination,  not  from  necessity,  however,  as 
she  made  a  fortune  long  before.  This  singular  character  came 
to  Paris  from  the  provinces  in  1790,  and  soon  after  set  up  as  a 
sorceress.  Some  of  her  predictions  as  to  the  fate  of  the  Republic, 
then  at  its  zenith,  offended  the  revolutionary  tribunal,  which 
thrust  her  straightway  into  prison,  and  it  was  lucky  she  saved 
her  head.  Of  course  this  imprisonment  added  to  her  renown, 
and  during  the  Empire  and  the  Restoration  she  laid  bare  the 
mysteries  of  the  future  to  countless  believers  in  her  sibylline 
power. 

It  is  well  known  that,  of  all  her  devotees,  none  was  more 
trusting  than  the  gentle  Josephine,  wife  of  Napoleon,  who  used 
to  consecrate  long  sittings  to  the  Pythoness.  In  1819  she 
published  a  book  called  the  Sibyl  at  the  Congress  of  Aix-la- 
Chapelle,  where  she  undertook  to  reveal  some  of  the  secret 
proceedings  at  that  august  assembly,  which  met  there  in  the 
previous  year,  and  for  which  she  was  prosecuted. 


35  2  Paris  Revisited. 


When  I  entered  her  reception-room  in  the  Rue  de  Tournon, 
the  day  of  my  visit,  I  found  several  ladies,  all  deeply  veiled  ;  but 
from  their  dress  I  inferred  that  they  were  persons  of  good 
condition.  Only  one  at  a  time  was  admitted  into  the  enchanted 
chamber,  and  I  received  a  card  duly  numbered,  that  was  called 
out  by  the  attendant  when  my  turn  came.  It  was  several  mo 
ments  after  I  found  myself  in  the  sanctum  of  the  oracle  before  I 
could  make  out  my  surroundings,  so  dimly  lighted  was  the. small 
room  where  she  sat.  At  last  I  discovered  a  stout  woman 
strangely  attired  behind  a  large  table  covered  with  all  kinds  of 
cabalistic  charms.  Bats  and  owls  and  other  '  varmints'  equally 
unattractive  were  arranged  fantastically  on  the  walls  and  ceiling. 
I  had  barely  time  to  glance  round  before  I  was  called  to  order 
by  a  gruff  masculine  voice  proceeding  from  the  venerable 
Hecate,  who  demanded  my  age,  what  animal  I  liked  best,  what 
colour  I  preferred,  and  some  other  insignificant  questions. 
Meanwhile,  without  deigning  scarcely  to  notice  me,  without 
scrutinising  my  countenance,  as  I  expected,  she  busied  herself 
in  shuffling  and  cutting  various  packs  of  mysterious  cards 
covered  with  curious  figures  and  devices.  Having  finished  this 
process,  she  bade  me  in  peremptory  tones  to  '  cut'  them.  She 
then  carefully  arranged  them  in  parallel  rows,  and  devoted  some 
little  time  to  meditation.  I  was  surprised  that  she  held  no  con 
versation  with  me,  nor  made  any  effort  to  discover  my  mode  of 
life,  or  anything  concerning  me.  After  closing  her  steady  perusal 
of  my  destiny,  she  began  her  prophetic  rdle.  She  seemed  ut 
terly  indifferent  whether  her  vaticinations  were  pleasant  or 
otherwise,  but  spoke  as  one  inspired.  The  Sphinx  went  on  for 
some  time,  and  gave  me  my  money's  worth  in  the  way  of  revela 
tion.  She  spoke,  amongst  the  rest,  of  my  strong  sympathy  for 
the  fair  sex,  but  said  it  was  more  sentimental  than  otherwise  ; 
declared  I  was  not  married,  and  would  never  marry — that  I  would 
lead  an  idle,  but  not  altogether  unprofitable,  life.  However,  I 
was  so  profanely  incredulous  that  I  paid  no  great  attention  to 
what  she  said,  though  I  confess  she  more  than  once  somewhat 
startled  me.  She  wound  up  by  saying  that  I  was  about  to  leave 
Paris,  and  boldly  named  the  month  and  week  of  my  departure, 
adding  that,  although  I  proposed  travelling  with  a  friend,  I 
should  make  the  journey  alone.  In  connection  with  this 
prediction  I  may  mention  that,  some  three  weeks  after,  I  set  off 
in  the  diligence  for  Boulogne,  in  company  with  a  friend  who  was 


Paris  Revisited.  353 


also  bound  for  London.  When  we  reached  St.  Denis,  some  few 
miles  from  Paris,  my  companion  discovered  to  his  horror  that  he 
had  left  behind  him  a  bag  containing  some  valuable  papers,  and 
resolved  to  return  immediately  in  quest  of  them.  I  was  there 
fore  compelled  to  pursue  my  trip  without  him.  I  really  began 
to  suspect  that  Mdlle.  Lenormand  was  little  better  than  a  witch. 

During  my  stay  in  Paris  I  frequently  met  our  great  surgeon, 
Dr.  Mott,  who  was  making  a  jaunt  in  Europe  with  his  family.  I 
took  a  strong  liking  to  this  distinguished  man,  as  did  everybody 
else.  His  beardless  face  wore  an  expression  of  benevolence  that 
won  at  first  sight,  and  his  mild  unobtrusive  manner  confirmed 
the  predilection.  He  was  a  close  observer  and  extensive  reader ; 
consequently  his  conversation  was  always  interesting  and  instruc 
tive.  He  was  fond  of  talking,  and  a  pleasing  smile  flickered 
over  his  features  the  whole  time.  I  never  knew  him  to  laugh 
heartily  but  once,  when  I  told  him  a  medical  anecdote  that 
struck  his  sense  of  the  ludicrous.  His  wife  still  enjoyed  the 
beauty  for  which  she  was  so  famous  in  her  girlhood,  and  her 
genial  demeanour  attracted  to  her  salon  a  large  circle  of  friends 
and  admirers.  All  the  flower  of  the  American  colony,  as  well 
as  many  distinguished  persons  of  the  French  world,  readily 
assembled  at  her  weekly  soirees.  A  strange  incident  occurred 
at  this  time,  that  led  to  a  deal  of  exciting  comment.  Some 
malicious  person  addressed,  for  several  weeks,  a  series  of  anony 
mous  letters  to  Mrs.  Mott  of  an  offensive  character.  Her  friends 
made  every  effort,  with  the  aid  of  the  police,  to  ferret  out  the 
writer,  but  in  vain.  On  the  return  of  Dr.  Mott  to  Paris,  from  a 
short  tour  in  Egypt,  the  American  community,  to  manifest  their 
indignation  at  this  cowardly  persecution,  tendered  him  a  compli 
mentary  banquet,  which  he  accepted.  To  a  toast  in  his  honour 
the  Doctor  replied  in  a  very  effective  speech,  showing  that  he 
could  wield  his  tongue,  as  well  as  the  scalpel,  with  singular  dex 
terity.  Dr.  Mott  was  held  in  high  repute  by  the  Faculty  of 
Paris,  and  not  less  so  by  that  of  London.  Some  of  his  opera 
tions  were  equally  novel  and  bold,  displaying  not  only  rare 
surgical  skill,  but  a  steadiness  of  hand  quite  remarkable. 

Just  on  the  eve  of  my  departure  from  Paris,  another  effort 
was  made  to  assassinate  the  King.  He  was  leaving  the  palace 
for  his  villa  at  Neuilly,  and  had  barely  started,  when  a  gun  was 
fired  into  his  carriage,  and  the  ball  grazed  his  head.  The  assas 
sin  was  seized,  and  carried  off  to  prison.  He  was  quite  a  young 

AA 


354  Paris  Revisited. 


man,  and  alleged  that  love  of  liberty  was  his  motive  ;  but  it 
turned  out  that  he  was  an  idle  fellow,  unwilling  to  earn  an 
honest  livelihood,  and  had  actually  stolen  the  gun  with  which 
he  sought  to  commit  the  murder.  Some  supposed  he  was 
simply  a  fanatic,  whilst  others  believed  that,  like  the  miserable 
creatures  who  had  previously  made  similar  attempts,  he  was 
only  animated  by  a  desire  of  notoriety,  and  the  hope  of  effecting 
a  revolution.  He  declared,  when  sentence  of  death  was  pro 
nounced,  '  I  had,  with  reference  to  Philippe  I.,  the  same  right 
which  Brutus  exercised  against  Caesar.  Regicide  is  the  right  of 
all  men  who  are  debarred  from  any  justice  but  that  which  they 
take  into  their  own  hands.'  Just  before  he  was  guillotined,  he 
exclaimed,  in  a  theatrical  tone,  *  I  die  for  liberty  ;'  which  reminded 
me  of  the  words  of  the  unfortunate  Madame  Roland,  *  O  Liberty, 
what  crimes  are  committed  in  thy  name !' 

Whilst  such  wretches  as  Fieschi  and  Alibaud  were  constantly 
prowling  about  the  streets,  eager  for  the  renown  of  a  regicide,  it 
was  no  wonder  the  countenance  of  Marie  Amelie  wore  the  touch 
ing  expression  of  fear  and  despondency  that  Mr.  Wilkins  men 
tioned.  I  marvelled  the  King  did  not  throw  his  crown  out  of 
the  window,  and  let  them  fight  amongst  themselves  in  the 
Kilkenny  fashion.  It  would  be  a  miracle  if  he  escaped  the  assas 
sin's  bullet.  His  ancestor,  the  good  Henry  IV.,  survived  twenty- 
three  attacks  on  his  life,  and  was  killed  by  Ravaillac  in  the 
twenty-fourth. 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

LONDON  REVISITED. 

APPOINTED  ATTACHE — WILLIAM  IV, — ST.  JAMES'S  PALACE. 

I  LOST  no  time  after  my  arrival  in  London,  the  summer  of  1836, 
in  calling  in  Portland-place,  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  our 
new  Plenipotentiary,  Mr.  Andrew  Stevenson  of  Virginia,  who 
reached  his  post  in  May.  His  name  was  familiar  as  one  of  the 
prominent  political  leaders  of  General  Jackson's  Administration. 
He  had  lately  resigned  the  Speaker's  chair  of  the  House  of 
Representatives,  and  his  devotion  to  his  party  had  so  incensed 
the  Opposition  that  they  endeavoured  to  defeat  his  nomination 
to  the  Court  of  St.  James,  which  he  finally  obtained.  I  pre 
sented  my  introduction  from  Mr.  Wilkins,  of  whom  he  spoke  in 
the  warmest  terms.  After  perusing  it,  he  said  he  would  take 
into  consideration  his  suggestion  of  my  being  attached  to  the 
Legation,  and  let  me  know  his  decision  at  an  early  day.  I  was 
not  surprised  that  he  had  already  made  a  favourable  impression 
in  London,  for  he  was  a  very  handsome  man,  with  a  command 
ing  air  like  one  used  to  authority.  His  face  denoted  force  of 
character,  and  his  manner  was  easy,  natural,  and  at  times  full  of 
animation.  He  was  a  fluent  energetic  talker.  After  a  lively 
chat  in  the  library,  he  took  me  up  to  the  drawing-room  to  present 
me  to  his  wife  ;  and  as  I  half  suspected  my  appointment  to  the 
Legation  would  depend  on  her  verdict,  I  was  very  solicitous  to 
make  a  favourable  impression. 

I  found  it  an  easy  task  to  be  agreeable,  for  she  was  a  remark 
ably  attractive  woman.  She  had  passed  the  meridian  of  life, 
and  her  somewhat  attenuated  form  and  pallid  cheek  indicated 
impaired  health.  But  she  was  endowed  with  a  buoyant  disposi 
tion  and  sympathetic  nature,  whilst  her  superior  culture  gave  to 
her  blithesome  conversation  an  unusual  charm.  I  was  greatly 
prepossessed,  and  from  her  very  cordial  manner  inferred  I 
should  likely  obtain  her  support.  I  was  not  long  kept  in  sus- 


356  London  Revisited. 


pense  ;  for  I  received  in  a  few  days  a  note  from  Mr.  Stevenson, 
saying,  as  he  understood  I  desired  it,  he  would  attach  me  with 
pleasure  to  his  Legation,  and  if  I  could  get  my  Court  dress  ready 
in  time,  he  would  present  me  to  the  King  at  the  last  levte  of  the 
season,  a  week  later. 

I  ordered  forthwith  my  diplomatic  costume,  consisting  of  a 
blue  coat  with  collar,  lapels,  and  cuffs  embroidered  in  gold,  and 
trousers  of  the  same  material  with  gold  bands.  This  was  the  dress 
worn  at  levees.  For  Drawing-rooms  or  other  Court  f£tesy  white- 
cassimere  breeches  with  silk  stockings  and  buckled  shoes  were 
adopted.  A  dress-sword  and  chapeau  bras  were  used  on  both 
occasions.  Duly  accoutred,  I  drove  up  to  the  Legation  at  the 
appointed  hour,  and  accompanied  the  Minister,  and  the  Secre 
tary  of  Legation,  Mr.  Theodore  S.  Fay,  to  St.  James's  Palace. 

We  drove  into  the  courtyard  reserved  for  the  Diplomatic 
Corps,  and,  mounting  a  staircase,  traversed  a  long  gallery  which 
led  us  to  the  Presence  Chamber.  The  King  had  not  yet  entered  ; 
but  many  of  the  foreign  envoys  were  already  assembled,  together 
with  several  of  the  Ministers  of  the  Crown.  The  Prime  Minister, 
Lord  Melbourne,  was  pointed  out  to  me  :  a  fine-looking  man 
of  some  fifty-five  years,  with  the  gay  and  graceful  air  of  a  man 
of  the  world.  He  was  known  as  an  accomplished  courtier,  but 
he  could  not  have  become  the  head  of  the  Cabinet  without  parlia 
mentary  ability  of  the  highest  order.  My  attention  was  also 
called  to  Lord  Palmerston,  the  Secretary  for  Foreign  Affairs, 
who  was  chatting  with  the  Russian  Ambassador.  He  was  appa 
rently  beyond  middle  age,  and  there  was  a  briskness  of  manner 
that  indicated  the  activity  and  force  of  his  character. 

My  curiosity  was  aroused  by  a  person  who  was  evidently  the 
4  observed  of  all  observers.'  He  wore  a  field-marshal's  uniform, 
was  about  medium  height,  and  rather  slender.  His  gray  hair 
showed  that  age  was  gaining  on  him,  but  he  looked  strong  and 
hearty.  His  compressed  lips  and  steady  eye  denoted  firmness 
and  courage  of  no  ordinary  kind.  His  manner  was  serious  and 
reserved,  though  quite  unassuming.  The  foreign  Ministers  all 
approached  him  in  turn.  He  replied  briefly  to  their  remarks, 
always  retaining  the  same  sedate  aspect.  Who  could  he  be  ? 
At  this  moment  I  encountered  a  secretary  of  the  French  Em 
bassy,  and  asked  for  information. 

'  Why,  don't  you  know  him  ?'  he  said.  '  That  is  the  "  Iron 
Duke." ' 


London  Revisited.  357 


'  What !'  I  exclaimed,  '  is  that  the  great  Duke  of  Wellington  ?' 

For  some  minutes  my  gaze  never  left  him.  To  behold  the 
victor  of  Napoleon  for  the  first  time  was  an  event. 

Shortly  after,  the  doors  of  an  inner  apartment  were  thrown 
open,  and,  preceded  by  his  chamberlains,  William  IV.  advanced, 
amid  the  salutations  of  all  present.  The  King  posted  himself 
at  one  end  of  the  room,  and  the  reception  at  once  began.  Each 
foreign  Minister,  according  to  his  seniority  at  the  Court,  defiled 
before  him,  with  whom  he  exchanged  a  few  words.  Whilst  this 
formality  was  going  on  I  had  time  to  contemplate  his  Britannic 
Majesty.  He  was  about  medium  height,  somewhat  stout,  and 
his  white  hair  attested  his  advanced  age,  then  seventy-one,  but 
he  seemed  in  sound  health.  His  face  was  pleasant  in  expres 
sion,  and  his  mild  blue  eye  gave  assurance  of  an  amiable  dispo 
sition. 

He  was  the  third  son  of  George  III.,  and  had  borne  the  title 
of  Duke  of  Clarence.  He  was  brought  up  in  the  Navy,  and, 
passing  through  the  various  grades,  became  Lord  High  Admiral. 
He  succeeded  to  the  throne  in  1830,  on  the  death  of  his  brother, 
George  IV.,  and  his  reign  was  not  a  little  disturbed  by  the 
struggles  of  the  Whig  and  Tory  parties  for  supremacy.  He 
was  more  of  a  sailor,  however,  than  a  politician,  and  took  little 
interest  in  parliamentary  squabbles.  He  married  a  German 
princess  in  1818,  and  had  no  lineal  issue.  It  is  well  known, 
however,  that  his  long  relations  with  the  celebrated  actress,  Mrs. 
Jordan,  led  to  a  numerous  family. 

When  the  turn  of  the  American  Minister  came,  I  followed 
him,  and  was  presented  to  the  King  as  an  attaM  to  the  U.S. 
Legation.  He  bestowed  on  me  a  gracious  glance,  and  inquired 
if  I  had  recently  arrived  in  London,  to  which  I  replied  in  the 
affirmative.  He  then  asked  in  what  part  of  the  country  my 
estate  was  situated. 

*  In  Pennsylvania,  your  Majesty/  I  answered. 

This  Deemed  entirely  satisfactory,  and  his  Majesty  bowed  ; 
which  was  the  signal  to  move  on,  and  henceforward  I  took  rank 
as  an  attach^  to  the  Court  of  St.  James. 

When  the  diplomatic  reception  was  over,  the  general  com 
pany  was  admitted  from  an  apartment  till  then  kept  closed  ;  and 
as  this  was  likely  to  last  some  time,  I  seized  the  occasion  to 
wander  over  the  state-rooms  of  this  interesting  old  palace.  I 
was  struck  by  the  size  and  loftiness  of  the  various  saloons  and 


358  London  Revisited. 


halls,  which  could  hardly  be  suspected  from  the  sombre  dingy 
appearance  of  the  exterior.  This  edifice  was  erected  by  Henry 
VIII.  in  1536,  and  has  been  the  scene  of  many  strange  and 
thrilling  events.  It  was  here  that  Queen  Mary,  daughter  of 
Catherine  of  Aragon,  known  in  history  as  *  Bloody  Mary/ 
wasted  away  and  died  in  1588.  Shortly  before  her  decease  she 
said  to  her  attendants,  '  If  you  would  know  the  cause  of  my 
death,  you  must  dissect  me,  and  you'll  find  Calais  at  my  heart ;' 
meaning  that  the  recapture  of  that  town  by  the  French  was  her 
death-wound. 

It  was  here  that  Charles  II.  and  James  II.  were  born,  and 
here  that  their  unhappy  father,  Charles  I.,  passed  the  last  three 
nights  previous  to  his  execution.  Whilst  a  prisoner  he  was 
treated  with  great  brutality  by  Cromwell,  who  ordered  him  to 
be  confined  in  a  single  room,  which  was  guarded  day  and  night 
by  soldiers,  who  treated  the  King  with  much  rudeness.  *  There 
is  nothing,'  said  the  unfortunate  Charles,  '  more  contemptible 
than  a  despised  prince.'  After  sleeping  calmly  he  rose,  on  the 
morning  he  was  beheaded,  January,  1649,  and  said  to  his  atten 
dant,  '  Give  me  a  second  shirt,  that  I  may  not  tremble  from  the 
cold,  which  would  be  attributed  to  fear.'  On  the  scaffold  he  be 
haved  with  the  utmost  intrepidity. 

In  a  bedroom  of  this  palace,  Anne,  the  first  wife  of  the  Duke 
of  York,  afterwards  James  II.,  expired.  She  became  a  convert 
to  Catholicism  in  her  last  hours,  and  desired  that  no  Protestant 
bishop  should  be  admitted  to  her  presence.  The  Bishop  of 
Worcester,  however,  obtained  access  on  condition  of  not  troubling 
her  with  any  controversial  discussion.  He  limited  himself  to 
merely  saying,  '  I  hope  your  Highness  still  continues  in  the 
truth.'  Fixing  her  eyes  upon  him,  she  said,  with  great  effort, 
'  What  is  truth  ?'  At  short  intervals  she  repeated  several  times1 
'  Truth,  truth,'  and  so  died. 

This  palace  also  was  the  scene  of  the  dissolution  of  the 
*  Merry  Monarch,'  Charles  II.  Almost  his  last  words  were 
characteristic  of  his  amiable  disposition.  Turning  to  the  cour 
tiers  and  attendants  around  his  bed,  he  said,  '  I  must  really  beg 
your  pardon  for  being  such  an  unconscionable  time  a-dying.' 

When  I  got  back  to  the  Presence  Chamber,  the  levee  was 
nearly  over,  and  I  retired  with  the  Minister. 

As  I  was  likely  to  pass  some  time  in  London,  I  established 
myself  comfortably  by  taking  part  of  a  house  in  a  fashionable 


London  Revisited.  359 


locality,  and  setting  up  an  equipage.  In  this  country,  both  aris 
tocratic  and  wealthy,  it  was  necessary  above  all  for  a  foreigner 
to  display  pecuniary  independence  before  seeking  an  entree  to  its 
gilded  saloons.  This  done,  I  began  to  look  about  me.  I  was 
soon  sensible  I  was  living  in  a  community  the  very  antipodes 
to  that  I  had  so  recently  left.  In  France,  all  seemed  afloat. 
Government,  society,  institutions — everything,  apparently,  rested 
on  quicksand.  But  here,  in  England,  all  was  solid  and  stable. 
No  one  dreamt  of  revolutions.  Arguments,  not  guns,  were  em 
ployed  for  any  modifications  of  the  political  system  desired. 
Consequently  everything  moved  smoothly  in  its  regular  orbit, 
and  no  one  was  perplexed  by  fear  of  change.  In  Paris  I  lived 
in  a  feverish  state,  always  on  the  qui  vive  for  some  startling 
event.  Society  was  fermenting  from  top  to  bottom,  and  it  was 
like  dwelling  in  the  vicinity  of  a  volcano  constantly  emitting 
smoke  and  flame.  Whereas  in  London  the  horizon  was  clear, 
the  national  pulse  steady,  and  all  classes  calmly  engaged  in  their 
various  avocations. 

It  was  worth  my  while,  therefore,  to  investigate  the  Eng 
lish  regime,  since  the  knowledge  would  be  useful  for  a  lifetime  ; 
whilst  in  France  the  study  was  less  encouraging,  as  its  whole 
structure  might  be  transmogrified  in  a  decade.  I  resolved,  then, 
to  apply  myself  sedulously  to  the  comprehension  of  the  political 
and  social  organisation  of  England,  with  which,  like  most 
foreigners,  I  had  but  a  superficial  acquaintance.  This  was 
desirable  information  for  any  intelligent  stranger ;  but  it  was 
incumbent  on  any  one  connected,  however  humbly,  with  the 
Diplomatic  Corps  to  have  a  clear  understanding  of  the  character 
and  state  of  the  country  he  was  inhabiting.  Furthermore,  within 
a  recent  period  from  the  time  I  am  speaking  of,  a  radical 
change  had  occurred  in  the  parliamentary  machinery  of  Eng 
land,  and  to  estimate  its  importance  it  will  be  necessary  to  take 
a  retrospective  glance  at  what  had  previously  existed.  The 
subject  is  interesting,  but  it  may  not  have  attractions  for  all ; 
and  therefore  I  will  enclose  within  a  separate  chapter  this  brief 
digression  from  the  main  course  of  my  narrative. 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

POLITICAL  STRUCTURE SOCIAL  ORGANISATION — ORDERS  OF  CHIVALRY. 

THE  familiar  formula  of  King,  Lords,  and  Commons  expressed 
the  theory  on  which  the  English  Constitution  was  based,  and 
signified  that  the  political  power  was  divided  coordinately  be 
tween  them.  But  on  investigation  I  found  that  such  had  never 
been  the  case.  From  the  time  of  William  the  Conqueror,  1066, 
the  King  exercised,  in  the  main,  absolute  control,  down  to  1688, 
when  James  II.  was  driven  into  exile.  Then  the  monopoly  of 
power  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  Lords,  who  wielded  it  for  144 
years,  down  to  1832.  This  was  effected  by  the  Lords  holding 
exclusive  possession  of  the  House  of  Commons,  which  was  filled 
with  their  nominees.  Of  the  658  members,  487  represented 
territorial  districts  owned  by  the  Lords,  and  no  one,  conse 
quently,  was  chosen  not  favourable  to  their  supremacy.  The 
remaining  171  seats  belonged,  for  the  most  part,  to  constituencies 
so  very  limited  that  they  were  at  the  command  of  the  highest 
bidder.  So  late  as  1821  the  celebrated  Sydney  Smith  declared  : 
*  The  country  belongs  to  the  Duke  of  Rutland,  Lord  Lonsdale,  the 
Duke  of  Newcastle,  and  about  twenty  other  holders  of  boroughs. 
They  are  our  masters.' 

Thus  it  is  clear  the  Lords  monopolised  both  branches  of 
Parliament,  and  therefore  controlled  the  legislation  of  the 
country.  It  cannot  be  denied  that  during  the  period  of  their 
ascendency  the  nation  was  well  governed,  and  made  great  pro 
gress.  It  is  also  true  that  their  especial  interests  were  not 
neglected,  and  that 'class-legislation  often  took  precedence.  It 
is  not  likely  this  state  of  things  would  have  lasted  so  long  but 
for  the  adroitness  of  the  ruling  class.  Whenever  a  superior 
intellect  appeared,  whether  in  politics,  in  literature,  or  finance,  at 
the  bar,  in  the  army  or  navy — no  matter  from  what  stratum  of 
society  it  emerged — its  adhesion  to  the  existing  system  was 
secured  ;  and  the  prominent  politician,  barrister,  litterateur. 


London  Revisited.  361 


banker,  or  soldier  was  either  raised  to  the  House  of  Lords,  put 
in  the  House  of  Commons,  or  assigned  to  a  lucrative  office.  At 
length,  however,  the  middle  class — representing  the  trade,  com 
merce,  and  manufactures  of  the  country — took  exception  to  the 
government  being  permanently  invested  in  a  single  class,  how 
ever  able  or  patriotic.  They  pointed  to  the  scandal  of  populous 
towns  like  Birmingham,  Manchester,  and  Leeds  possessing  no 
franchise,  and  therefore  not  represented  in  Parliament.  They 
demanded  in  stentorian  tones  their  just  share  of  political  power. 
The  Lords  were  averse  to  yielding  their  preponderance  ;  and 
the  struggle  became  daily  more  violent.  Some  of  the  monopo 
lists,  like  Earl  Grey  and  Lord  John  Russell,  either  from  policy 
or  ambition,  went  over  to  the  malcontents,  and  .became  the 
leaders  of  the  middle-class  party,  claiming  a  wholesale  reform 
of  the  electoral  system.  The  agitation  became  so  general,  and 
public  opinion  pronounced  so  decidedly  in  favour  of  a  reorgan 
isation,  that  the  Lords  gave  way,  and  the  Reform  Bill  of  1832 
was  passed. 

This  measure  abolished  the  so-called  '  pocket  boroughs/  and 
greatly  extended  the  franchise,  admitting  all  the  large  towns  to 
representation.  This  was  the  end  of  the  oligarchy  which  had 
flourished  for  144  years,  as  stated.  Henceforward  the  House 
of  Commons  would  become  more  independent  and  influential, 
and  the  Lords  cease  to  dominate  the  legislation  of  the  country. 
Yet  it  was  certain  the  aristocracy  would  maintain  the  commanding 
position  they  had  held  for  centuries  ;  for  besides  their  wealth 
and  long  pedigrees,  their  well-trained  intellects  would  enable  them 
to  cope  successfully  with  all  competitors. 

It  is  thus  apparent  that  the  theory  of  a  division  of  power 
between  King,  Lords,  and  Commons  has  never  been  realised  in 
England.  First  the  King,  then  the  Lords,  and  finally  the 
Commons,  have  exercised  a  controlling  sway.  It  is  strange  that 
this  scheme  of  government  has  been  successfully  carried  out  in 
the  Constitution  of  the  United  States,  where  the  sovereign  power 
is  equally  divided  between  the  Executive  and  both  branches  of 
the  Legislature, 

Though  this  political  supremacy  of  the  aristocracy  had  been 
curtailed  by  the  Reform  Bill  alluded  to,  their  social  predominance 
at  the  time  of  my  visit,  in  1836,  was  still  as  potent  as  ever,  and 
I  was  glad  to  have  arrived  in  time  to  witness  its  last  phase.  I 
found  the  examination  of  the  social  organisation  of  England 


362  London  Revisited. 


more  perplexing  than  the  political  analysis  I  had  undertaken. 
It  was  intricate  work  for  a  foreigner  to  arrive  at  a  correct  know 
ledge  of  the  relative  social  importance  of  the  various  grades  into 
which  society  was  split  up  ;  but  the  information  was  vital,  and 
I  set  about  it  with  alacrity. 

At  the  head  of  the  social  hierarchy  stood  the  King  and 
Queen.  Then  followed  the  Royal  Princes  and  Princesses.  Next 
in  order  came  the  nobility,  divided  into  five  ranks — the  duke, 
marquis,  earl,  viscount,  and  baron.  The  first  was  addressed  as 
1  Your  Grace,'  the  others  as  '  My  Lord.'  All  these  were  members 
of  the  House  of  Lords,  and  their  titles  hereditary.  Outside  the 
nobility  were  the  baronet  and  the  knight,  both  addressed  as 
1  Sir ;'  this  title  hereditary  in  the  former,  in  the  latter  for  life 
only. 

A  class  known  as  the  '  landed  gentry,'  though  without  title, 
enjoyed  high  social  prestige,  as  they  represented  ancient  lineage 
and  great  wealth.  They  were  large  owners  of  land,  and  it  was 
from  this  category  the  peerage  was  chiefly  recruited.  No  one  was 
considered,  as  a  rule,  eligible  for  the  House  of  Lords  who  had 
not  an  extensive  interest  in  the  soil.  Ancestry  without  acres  was 
little  esteemed  in  England,  though  of  rare  occurrence.  Of  the 
5/O  peers  then  on  record,  some  two-thirds  had  sprung  from 
land.  About  fifty  peerages  might  be  traced  to  great  lawyers,  and 
some  forty  to  high  distinction  in  the  army  and  navy. 

The  clergy  of  the  Church  of  England  rank  socially  with  the 
nobility  and  landed  gentry.  They  are  divided  into  numerous 
grades,  and  their  various  titles  are  bewildering.  The  Archbishop 
of  Canterbury,  whose  title  dates  from  597  A.D.,  is  the  head  of  the 
ecclesiastical  fabric.  He  takes  precedence  of  the  nobility,  and 
is  addressed  as  '  Your  Grace.'  The  Archbishop  of  York  is  next 
in  rank.  Then  succeeds  a  long  string  of  bishops,  who  are  .ad 
dressed  as  '  My  Lord,'  being  entitled  to  a  seat  in  the  House  of 
Lords  as  spiritual  peers.  The  Church  of  England,  though  much 
despoiled  under  the  regime  of  Cromwell,  was  still  rich  in  land  and 
endowments.  Her  annual  revenue  was  estimated  at  not  far  from 
twenty  millions  of  dollars,  and  measures  had  been  adopted  to 
increase  it  by  better  management.  The  National  Church  was  sur 
rounded  by  a  vast  body  of  Dissenters,  of  all  denominations,  con 
stantly  on  the  increase ;  but  it  was  awake  to  the  necessity  of  new 
efforts  to  maintain  its  position.  Various  abuses  were  disappear 
ing,  and  the  days  of  *  fox-hunting  parsons'  were  numbered.  It  was 


London  Revisited.  363 


asserted  that  nearly  one-third  of  the  existing  generation  had 
grown  up  out  of  her  communion,  but  her  power  was  still  dominant 
in  the  State  and  in  society.  She  was  at  the  head  of  the  parochial 
organisation  of  the  country,  and  had  the  largest  share  in  the 
education  of  the  people.  The  traditions  and  sentiments  of  the 
nation  were  on  her  side,  and  whilst  she  was  compact  and  united, 
her  rivals  were  split  up  into  endless  sects.  The  Wesleyans,  for 
instance,  were  severed  into  nine  divisions,  and  the  Baptists  into 
five.  There  was  work  enough,  however,  for  all  in  looking  after 
the  spiritual  needs  of  an  ever-growing  population.  It  was  a 
satisfactory  sign  of  the  times  that  religious  animosity  was  fast 
abating.  The  Church  of  England  was  discarding  her  jealousy 
of  her  opponents,  and  the  Protestant  hatred  of  Catholicism  was 
gradually  dying  out  In  1829  the  Catholics  were  admitted  by 
Parliament  to  the  enjoyment  of  political  rights,  and  the  country 
approved  it. 

I  found  two  orders  of  chivalry  existing  in  England,  and  both 
of  ancient  date.  The  most  distinguished  was  the  '  Order  of  the 
Garter/  founded  by  Edward  III.  in  1347,  and  limited  to  twenty- 
five  knights.  The  symbols  of  the  order  are  a  garter  worn  on 
the  left  leg,  a  broad  blue  ribbon  across  the  breast,  and  a  star. 
This  distinction  is  chiefly  restricted  to  the  nobility,  and  to  the 
most  illustrious  only. 

The  second  order  was  that  of  the  '  Bath,'  so  called  from  the 
ceremony  of  bathing  which  was  originally  performed  before  the 
knight  was  invested.  Mention  is  made  of  a  Knight  of  the  Bath 
created  by  King  John  in  1204,  but  it  is  supposed  to  be  of  still 
earlier  origin.  This  decoration  is  principally  bestowed  on  mili 
tary  men  for  signal  services,  and  is  not  limited  in  number.* 

*  In  1847  it  was  decided  to  confer  the  Order  of  the  Bath  also  on  civilians,  as  a 
mark  of  distinction. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

ALMACK'S — MR.  JOSHUA  BATES — BARING  BROTHERS — MARCHIONESS  OF  WELLESLEY 
— THE  POET  ROGERS,   ETC. 

THOUGH  busy  with  my  researches  into  the  political  and  social 
organism  of  the  country  of  which  I  had  become  a  denizen,  I 
was  none  the  less  eager  to  investigate  personally  the  scented 
realms  of  its  recherche  society.  My  first  plunge  was  a  bold  one, 
and  put  my  nerves  to  a  severe  test.  I  obtained  an  invitation  to 
Almack's,  and  ventured  upon  the  sacred  ground.  This  name 
was  applied  to  the  most  exclusive  balls  given  in  London  in  the 
famous  assembly-rooms  built  by  Al mack  in  1765.  From  that 
day  forward  they  were  renowned  as  the  rendezvous  of  the  bluest 
blood  in  England.  They  were  under  the  direction  of  a  limited 
number  of  lady-patronesses,  the  quintessence  of  the  fashionable 
world.  They  issued  all  the  admissions,  and  their  fiat  was  final 
as  to  the  claims  of  aspirants  to  this  great  distinction.  A  signal 
proof  of  their  daring  is  shown  by  an  anecdote  I  had  lately  heard. 

When  the  Duke  of  Wellington  returned  to  England  after 
Waterloo,  his  company  was  sought  by  the  most  illustrious  in  the 
land.  On  one  of  the  ball-nights  at  Almack's,  he  presented  him 
self  at  the  door,  but  was  told  that  after  eleven  o'clock  no  one 
was  admitted. 

1  Give  my  card,'  said  the  Duke,  *  to  the  Countess  of  Jersey,  and 
say  I  am  waiting.' 

In  a  few  moments  the  answer  was  brought. 

'  Lady  Jersey's  compliments  to  the  Duke  of  Wellington.  No 
admittance  to  Almack's  after  Eleven  o'clock.' 

The  great  soldier,  for  the  first  time,  was  compelled  to  retreat, 
as  much  astonished  as  amused. 

This  occurred  twenty  years  previously;  but  these  stately  assem 
blies  had  lost  nothing  of  their  eclat  in  the  interval.  My  connection 
with  a  foreign  legation  enabled  me  to  obtain  an  entree,  and  when 
I  breathed  for  the  first  time  the  aromatic  atmosphere  of  lords 
and  ladies  of  the  seventh  heaven  of  fashion,  I  thought  it  just  as 
well  I  was  not  known  as  an  American.  What  effect  such  a 


London  Revisited.  365 


thrilling  discovery  might  have  had,  it  is  hard  to  say.  At  this 
time  the  higher  classes  of  England  had  the  vaguest  notions  of 
the  great  Republic  and  its  occupants.  Most  of  them  had  none  at 
all,  whilst  the  rest  were  uncertain  whether  Americans  were  tawny 
savages,  black  negroes,  or  Irish  emigrants,  and  had  only  one 
aspiration  concerning  them — that  the  hybrids  might  never  come 
'  betwixt  the  wind  and  their  nobility.'  I  took  the  risk  of  being 
presented  to  one  of  the  lady-patronesses,  the  Countess  Aylmer, 
wife  of  the  former  Governor-General  of  Canada,  whom  I  had 
contemplated  so  inquisitively  at  Quebec.  She  regarded  me  for 
a  few  moments  with  a  look  half  curious,  half  supercilious. 

'  How  well  you  speak  English  !'  at  last  she  remarked. 

'  This  is  not  the  first  time,  your  ladyship,  that  I  have  visited 
England,'  I  replied,  with  a  smile.  . 

'  Ah,  that  explains  it,'  she  said,  in  a  satisfied  tone  ;  and,  turn 
ing  to  speak  to  some  one  who  came  up,  I  fell  back  in  the  throng. 

I  wandered  observantly  among  the  titled  crowd.  The  beauty 
of  the  women  filled  me  with  wonder.  Their  stature  and  full 
development  were  imposing.  Such  shoulders,  busts,  and  figures 
I  had  never  seen  in  any  other  country.  Their  skin  was  supremely 
fair,  and  hair  of  luxurious  growth.  Their  toilettes  were  of  great 
elegance,  and  jewels  of  rare  value.  The  men  were  mostly  tall, 
handsome,  and  dressed  with  great  simplicity.  The  manner  of 
both  sexes  was  more  striking  even  than  their  appearance — 
natural  and  easy,  but  neither  graceful  nor  urbane.  It  was  singu 
larly  hard  and  insouciant.  Arrogance  it  could  not  be  called,  but 
under  it  lurked,  beyond  doubt,  a  calm  consciousness  of  their 
superiority.  An  Englishman  generally  considers  his  country  at 
the  head  of  civilisation,  though  he  has  not  the  vanity  to  declare 
it  ;  but  the  aristocracy,  whose  pedigree,  rank,  and  wealth,  whose 
high  breeding  and  remarkable  culture,  raise  them  beyond  rivalry, 
can  hardly  help  regarding  not  merely  the  classes  below  them  at 
home,  but  even  the  rest  of  mankind,  as  something  of  inferior 
mould  altogether. 

To  a  person  of  a  nervous  sensitive  temperament,  the  cold 
undemonstrative  deportment  of  the  haute  noblesse  that  I  met  at 
Almack's  was  not  a  little  benumbing,  and  it  required  a  good 
deal  of  resolution  to  approach  it  without  being  congealed  on  the 
spot.  More  than  once  I  had  to  invoke  the  democratic  senti 
ment  of  Burns,  that  '  the  man's  the  goud  for  a'  that,'  in  order  to 
preserve  my  moral  equilibrium.  I  waltzed  with  a  niece  of  the 


366  London  Revisited. 

Duke  of  St.  Albans,  the  fair  Frederica  Beauclerc,  a  noted  belle 
of  Almack's  ;  and  though  her  impassive  noncJmlant  mien  made 
me  feel  as  little  better  than  a  straw  or  a  pin,  yet  I  affected  out 
wardly  as  much  self-possession  as  I  could  possibly  summon. 
That  night's  experience  of  Almack's  taught  me,  if  I  would  pass 
current  in  noble  society,  I  must  take  care  to  suppress  all  signs  of 
natural  emotion,  and  to  think  as  little  of  indulging  in  enthusiasm 
as  I  would  in  strong  drink.  When  among  the  elite  I  felt  the 
necessity  of  assuming,  as  far  as  was  in  my  nature,  the  same  dry 
callous  tone  that  at  this  time  was  as  habitual  to  them  as  armour 
was  to  the  knights  of  the  Middle  Ages.* 

Dining  one  day  with  our  Minister,  I  met  Mr.  Joshua  Bates,  a 
partner  of  the  eminent  house  of  Baring  Brothers.  The  Baring 
family  was  of  German  origin.  The  first  who  came  to  England, 
in  the  last  century,  was  Franz  Baring,  a  Lutheran  pastor.  His 
son  John  established  himself  in  Exeter  as  a  cloth  manufacturer, 
and  left  a  large  fortune.  Two  of  his  sons  came  to  London,  and 
set  up  in  business  as  importers  of  woollen  and  dyed  stuffs.  One 
brother  then  withdrew  ;  and  the  other,  Francis,  wound  up  his 
old  business,  and  devoted  himself  to  banking.  He  became  the 
friend  and  financial  adviser  of  Lord  Shelburne,  then  Prime  Min 
ister,  who  used  to  style  him  '  the  Prince  of  Merchants.'  Francis 
Baring  was  therefore  the  founder  of  the  house  of  Baring,  and 
he  was  made  a  baronet  in  1793  by  Pitt,  then  Prime  Minister. 
Dying  in  1810,  he  left  two  millions  sterling  as  the  capital  of  the 
firm.  His  sons  succeeded  to  the  business,  which  was  considered 
as  only  second  to  that  of  the  Rothschilds. 

For  many  years  the  house  was  managed  by  Alexander 
Baring,  who  married  in  Philadelphia  in  1798  a  daughter  of 
William  Bingham,  who  inherited,  on  the  death  of  her  father,  a 
million  of  dollars.  The  prosperity  of  Baring  Brothers  augmented 
materially  under  the  able  direction  of  Alexander  Baring,  who 
was  acknowledged  as  one  of  the  highest  commercial  and  finan 
cial  authorities  in  London.  He  served  in  Parliament  for  many 
years,  and  exercised  great  influence.  In  1828  he  retired  from 
the  banking-house,  and  was  raised  to  the  House  of  Lords  in 
1835,  with  the  title  of  Baron  Ashburton.  Just  at  the  time  he 
withdrew  the  managing  partner  died,  and  Mr.  Bates  was  chosen 
to  fill  his  place.  He  had  already  resided  some  years  in  London 

*  Since  that  period  the  tone  of  the  English  aristocracy  is  much  modified,  both  at 
home  and  abroad. 


London  Revisited.  367 


as  the  agent  of  William  Gray  of  Boston  ;  and  in  this  capacity 
Mr.  Bates  frequently  came  into  business  contact  with  Alexander 
Baring,  upon  whom  he  made  so  favourable  an  impression  that, 
the  moment  an  opportunity  offered,  he  was  invited  to  enter  the 
house  of  Baring.  This  was  a  splendid  rise  in  his  fortunes,  and 
far  beyond  his  dreams  when  he  left  Boston  as  a  mere  confi 
dential  employe. 

When  I  first  met  Mr.  Bates  he  was  apparently  some  forty 
years  of  age,  of  lofty  stature,  and  robust  in  person  ;  he  had  all 
the  gravity  of  demeanour  characteristic  of  the  English  world. 
This,  however,  was  a  matter  of  temperament  with  him.  His 
face  had  a  quiet  pleasant  expression  ;  but  his  gleaming  eyes 
revealed  the  activity  and  force  of  his  intellect.  In  manner  and 
language  he  was  always  sedate  to  solemnity.  In  short,  he  was 
the  embodiment  of  a  shrewd  cautious  man  of  business,  and 
rendered  immense  services  to  the  house  of  Baring  for  the  many 
years  he  was  connected  with  it.  It  often  occurred  to  me,  when 
thinking  of  him,  that  he  was  just  one  of  those  rare  beings  whose 
conformation,  mental  and  physical,  was  so  evenly  balanced  that 
he  could  not  fail  to  pursue  a  steady  course  amid  all  the  fluctua 
tions  and  temptations  of  life.  He  reminded  me  of  the  words  of 
Sir  Walter  Scott  when  writing  of  Byron.  '  Those,'  he  said,  '  who 
are  gifted  with  strong  nerves,  regular  temper,  and  habitual  self- 
command  are  not,  perhaps,  aware  how  much  of  what  they  may 
think  virtue  they  owe  to  constitution.' 

Mr.  Bates  resided  in  Portland-place,  only  a  few  doors  from 
the  Minister,  and  I  soon  became  an  Jiabitut  of  his  hospitable 
mansion. 

His  wife  was  a  Miss  Sturgis  of  New  England,  and  was  newly 
married  when  she  came  to  London.  She  was  a  handsome 
woman,  with  a  very  kind  genial  disposition.  They  had  an  only 
child,  a  daughter,  barely  sixteen.  She  had  the  dark  eyes  and 
regular  features  of  her  father,  with  much  of  his  reserved  dispo 
sition.  She  promised  to  grow  up  a  striking  beauty,  and  was 
sole  heiress  to  a  large  fortune. 

I  was  highly  gratified  one  day,  when  calling  on  the  Minister, 
to  meet  the  Hon.  Richard  Rush,  who  had  been  lately  sent  to  Lon 
don  by  the  President  to  recover,  through  the  Court  of  Chancery, 
a  legacy  left  by  Mr.  Smithson,  to  found  a  scientific  institution 
at  Washington.  Mr.  Rush  was  a  citizen  of  Philadelphia,  and  a 
son  of  the  distinguished  physician,  Dr.  Rush,  an  intimate  friend 


368  London  Revisited. 


of  Washington.  For  many  years  he  had  occupied  prominent 
official  positions,  and  had  acquitted  himself  in  all  with  honour. 
He  was  an  amiable  high-bred  man,  but  with  a  certain  formal 
dignity  which  belonged  to  a  school  of  manners  dying  out  in  the 
United  States.  He  was  one  of  the  last  representatives  of  the 
American  gentleman  of  the  olden  time. 

I  was  chatting  with  Mrs.  Stevenson  one  morning,  when  the 
Marchioness  of  Wellesley  was  announced.  I  was  exceedingly 
glad  of  the  opportunity  of  making  the  acquaintance  of  this  once 
celebrated  beauty.  She  was  the  granddaughter  of  Charles 
Carroll  of  Carrolton,  and  first  married  Mr.  Patterson  of  Balti 
more.  She  was  cordially  received  in  the  best  circles  when  she 
came  to  Europe,  and  her  handsome  person  and  graceful  manners 
were  universally  extolled.  She  visited  Paris  soon  after  the 
battle  of  Waterloo,  when  the  allied  sovereigns  and  the  victorious 
generals  were  residing  there.  One  day  she  was  present  at  a 
banquet  given  by  a  foreign  ambassador,  and  among  the  dis 
tinguished  guests  was  the  hero  of  Waterloo,  the  Duke  of  Wel 
lington.  He  was  chatting  with  Mrs.  Patterson  when  dinner 
was  announced,  and  the  Duke  offered  her  his  arm.  As  if  over 
powered  by  the  compliment  she  instinctively  shrank  back  ;  and 
the  Count  D'Artois,  afterwards  Charles  X.,  who  witnessed  the 
incident,  was  so  charmed  with  her  modesty  that  he  approached, 
and  begged  her  acceptance  of  a  rose  that  he  plucked  from  some 
flowers  near  him. 

She  came  again  to  England  after  the  death  of  her  husband, 
where  she  met  the  Marquis  of  Wellesley,  elder  brother  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington,  who  achieved  great  fame  as  Governor- 
General  of  India.  The  Marquis  became  desperately  enamoured 
of  the  beautiful  widow,  and  offered  her  his  hand ;  which  she 
accepted,  and  England  was  henceforth  her  permanent  home. 
I  naturally  regarded  her  with  lively  interest  when  she  entered 
Mrs.  Stevenson's  drawing-room.  Tall  and  commanding  in  ap 
pearance,  her  figure  was  still  perfect,  and  her  face  bore  many 
traces  of  the  beauty  for  which  it  was  formerly  so  remarkable. 
Nothing  could  be  more  distingue  than  her  mien,  and  her  conver 
sation,  though  serious,  was  none  the  less  pleasing.  Two  of  her 
younger  sisters,  the  Misses  Caton  of  Baltimore,  were  equally 
noted  for  their  personal  charms,  and  both  married  into  the 
English  nobility.  One  espoused  the  Duke  of  Leeds,  and  the 
other  Lord  Stafford. 


London  Revisited.  369 


One  of  the  last  balls  of  the  season  took  place  at  the  elegant 
residence  of  Mr.  Mansfield  in  Upper  Grosvenor-street  I  men 
tioned  previously  that  this  gentleman,  when  Secretary  of  the 
British  Legation  at  Washington,  married  the  daughter  of  General 
Smith  of  Baltimore.  Inheriting  a  large  fortune,  he  abandoned 
diplomacy,  and  settled  down  with  his  handsome  wife  in  Eng 
land.  His  house  in  London,  and  his  lovely  country  place  in 
Hertfordshire,  were  the  favourite  resorts  of  the  fashionable  world, 
attracted  more  by  the  tact  and  winning  manners  of  the  Mans 
field  family  than  by  their  sumptuous  entertainments.  Though 
without  title,  Mr.  Mansfield  was  highly  connected,  and  belonged 
to  that  class  of  the  landed  gentry  I  have  spoken  of. 

It  often  surprised  foreigners  in  London  to  meet  the  ttite  of 
the  aristocracy  at  the  houses  of  people  without  title — not  aware 
that  many  families  not  included  in  the  peerage  boasted  of  a 
descent  more  ancient  than  a  majority  of  those  who  wore 
coronets.  Good  family  and  fortune  were  indispensable  to  a 
fashionable  position  ;  but  many  of  those  whose  salons  were 
the  most  crowded  could  not  boast  of  handles  to  their  names,  to 
use  a  familiar  expression.  This  was  the  case  with  the  Mansfields  ; 
and  at  their  ball,  on  the  night  referred  to,  I  met  with  many 
members  of  the  Cabinet,  and  a  splendid  array  of  the  rank  and 
wealth  of  the  town.  Lord  Melbourne,  the  Premier,  was  there, 
chatting  gaily,  as  was  his  wont.  He  was  celebrated  for  his  cynical 
wit,  and  I  was  amused  at  one  of  his  sallies.  An  enthusiast  was 
boring  his  lordship  with  a  description  of  an  oratorio  he  had 
recently  heard. 

'  It  was  beautiful/  he  said,  '  and  so  wonderfully  difficult1 

'  Difficult !'  repeated  Lord  Melbourne ;  '  I  wish  it  had  been 
impossible  ;'  and  he  turned  away  to  talk  on  some  topic  more 
congenial  to  him. 

I  observed  Lord  Palmerston  in  the  throng-,  with  his  usual 
airy  manner,  but  dignified  tone.  Who  could  imagine  that  this 
great  statesman,  in  his  early  days,  was  remarkable  for  his  levity 
and  gallantry  ?  He  was  once  the  hero  of  Almack's,  and  intro 
duced  the  German  waltz  into  England,  which  so  scandalised 
Byron  that  he  satirised  it  in  some  of  his  beautiful  verses : 

*  Not  Cleopatra  on  her  galley's  deck 
Displayed  so  much  of  leg,  or  more  of  neck 
Than  thou,  ambrosial  Waltz,  when  first  the  moon 
Beheld  thee  twirling  to  a  Saxon  tune.' 

BB 


37°  London  Revisited. 


My  attention  was  attracted  by  a  handsome  man,  with  lumi 
nous  eyes,  and  a  dark  full  beard,  which  showed  he  was  a  foreigner, 
as  no  English  gentlemen  wore  beards  at  that  time.  Only  officers 
of  the  army  were  decorated  with  a  moustache.  The  foreigner  I 
am  speaking  of  was  clad  in  a  gold-embroidered  coat  of  great 
richness,  and  the  hilt  of  his  sword  was  thickly  set  with  large 
diamonds.  On  inquiry  I  found  it  was  Duke  Charles  of  Bruns 
wick,  cousin  of  the  King.  He  was  a  direct  descendant  of  the 
Guelphs,  who  date  from  the  eleventh  century.  The  contests 
between  the  Guelphs  and  the  Ghibellines  kept  Italy  and  Ger 
many  in  hot  water  for  over  three  centuries.  The  father  of  the 
Duke  was  a  brave  soldier,  and  was  killed  at  Waterloo ;  and  his 
grandfather  also  died  in  battle.  The  quiet-looking  man  I  was 
gazing  at,  though  only  thirty-two,  had  finished  his  ducal  reign. 
He  mounted  the  throne  of  Brunswick  in  1823,  and  began  at 
once  his  machinations  against  the  constitution  adopted  in  1820. 
Besides  this  he  indulged  in  countless  vagaries,  to  say  nothing  of 
his  tyrannical  tendencies,  which  all  led  to  such  an  uproar  in  the 
country  that  he  was  finally  forced  to  abdicate,  and  retired  to 
England.  He  retained  possession  of  his  great  wealth,  and  had 
an  extraordinary  collection  of  diamonds.  He  was  very  fond  of 
law-suits,  and  never  lost  a  chance  of  provoking  one.  He  slept 
during  the  day,  and  dined  at  midnight.  He  was  full  of  oddities, 
though  he  looked  inoffensive  enough  in  a  ballroom.  The  Royal 
Family  avoided  him  altogether,  and  he  never  went  to  Court* 

Forrest  came  to  London  in  July,  to  talk  over  an  engagement 
that  had  been  offered  him  to  play  at  Drury  Lane  Theatre  in 
October.  He  was  ambitious  to  appear  in  London,  but  had 
doubts  of  his  success.  He  thought  the  prejudice  so  strong 
against  Americans  that  he  should  be  bitterly  criticised,  if  not 
worse.  I  took  an  opposite  view,  and  believed  he  would  meet 
with  a  cordial  reception.  I  considered  his  acting  superior  to 
any  tragedian  on  the  English  boards,  and  urged  him  earnestly 
to  accept  an  engagement,  which  he  finally  decided  to  do.  But 
as  he  publicly  declared,  when  he  left  home,  that  he  did  not  go 
abroad  to  play,  he  determined  to  return  to  New  York  rather 
than  break  his  word.  To  make  two  trips  across  the  Atlantic, 
in  a  sailing-ship,  for  the  mere  formality  of  keeping  his  pledge, 
about  which  nobody  cared,  I  deemed  quixotic  ;  but  there  was 

*  The  Duke  of  Brunswick  died  in    1878   at  Geneva,  bequeathing  his  large  for- 
une  to  the  town. 


London  Revisited.  371 


no  persuading  him  out  of  it.  So,  for  conscience'  sake,  he  set  off 
in  August  on  his  pilgrimage,  promising  to  return  by  the  end  of 
September.  He  narrowly  escaped  paying  dear  for  his  folly,  as 
the  coach  in  which  he  travelled  to  the  port  of  embarkation  was 
upset,  and  several  of  the  passengers  had  legs  or  arms  broken. 
Luckily  Forrest  escaped  with  only  some  contusions. 

I  renewed  my  pleasant  relations  with  the  Dunlop  family 
soon  after  my  return  to  London,  and  dined  with  them  repeatedly. 
Miss  Gamble  seemed  as  charming  as  ever,  and  I  took  great 
delight  in  her  merry  society.  I  accompanied  the  Dunlops  one 
evening  to  a  party  at  the  house  of  Miss  Rogers,  in  Regent's 
Park,  the  sister  of  the  celebrated  poet  and  banker,  Samuel  Rogers. 
The  company  was  large  and  distinguished.  Amongst  others, 
Miss  Stephens,  the  admired  singer,  was  there,  and  enchanted  all 
with  her  exquisite  voice.  Not  long  after,  she  married  Lord 
Essex.  I  was  greatly  captivated  by  a  rare  collection  of  pictures 
that  adorned  the  house.  One  was  pointed  out  that  had  so 
fascinated  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  that  he  said,  if  he  could  only 
obtain  it,  he  would  be  too  happy  to  cover  it  twice  over  with 
guineas.  The  object,  however,  of  greatest  interest  to  me  was 
Rogers  the  poet.  The  son  of  a  rich  banker,  he  continued  a 
member  of  the  house  after  his  father's  death.  He  devoted  him 
self  chiefly  to  poetry,  and  wrote  some  memorable  compositions. 
The  Pleasures  of  Memory,  perhaps,  is  the  best  known.  The 
following  lines,  referring  to  one  thought  suggesting  another,  are 
often  quoted  : 

'  Lulled  in  the  secret  chambers  of  the  brain, 
Our  thoughts  are  linked  by  many  a  hidden  chain ; 
Awake  but  one.  and,  lo,  what  myriads  rise ! 
Each  stamps  its  image  as  the  other  flies.' 

He  was  a  singular-looking  man,  short  and  stout,  with  a  face 
pallid  to  ghastliness,  and  a  voice  strangely  sepulchral.  It  was 
difficult  to  fancy  him  the  author  of  such  charming  verses.  He 
was  celebrated  for  his  wit,  which  was  of  a  somewhat  mordant 
turn.  No  one  could  offend  him  with  impunity.  His  epigram  on 
Mr.  Ward,  who  had  provoked  him,  was  a  proof  of  this  : 

1  They  say  that  Ward's  no  heart ;  but  I  deny  it : 
He  has  a  heart,  and  gets  his  speeches  by  it.' 

He  was  reported  to  be  slow  of  inspiration,  and  rarely  uttered 
an  impromptu  ;  but  on  one  occasion  he  made  a  very  felicitous 
paraphrase  of  a  line  of  Horace.  He  was  walking  in  the  street 


372  London  Revisited. 


with  the  well-known  Roman  Catholic  Father  Mahoney,  when  he 
observed  a  negro  approaching  them.  Affecting  alarm,  he  ex 
claimed, 

'  Hie  mger  est — nunc  tu,  JRomane,  caveto.' 
'  He  is  a  black — beware  of  him,  thou  Roman.9 

Though  seventy-four  years  old,  he  was  in  the  constant  habit  of 
entertaining  the  best  people  in  London,  especially  of  the  literary 
world,  which  he  had  done  for  half  a  century.  Everybody  was 
pleased  to  figure  at  one  of  '  Rogers's  breakfasts/  when  no  one 
contributed  more  liberally  than  himself  to  the  common  fund  of 
anecdote  and  racy  criticism. 

I  was  sorry  to  perceive  soon  after  I  joined  the  Legation  that 
unpleasant  relations  existed  between  the  Minister  and  the  Secre 
tary  of  Legation,  Theodore  S.  Fay.  The  latter  gentleman  was 
well  known  in  journalism,  having  been  associated  with  N.  P.Willis 
and  G.  P.  Morris  in  editing  the  New  York  Mirror.  He  was,  au 
fond,  an  amiable  man  enough,  but  one  of  the  genus  irritabile. 
The  Minister,  on  the  other  hand,  was  a  rough-and-ready  sort  of 
man,  in  the  habit  of  exercising  authority  and  expecting  prompt 
compliance.  In  fact,  they  were  so  opposite  in  character  that 
disagreement  was  inevitable  ;  and  though  I  made  constant  efforts 
to  pour  oil  on  the  ruffled  waters,  the  estrangement  at  last  grew 
complete.  The  Minister  appealed  to  Washington,  and  desired 
the  removal  of  Mr.  Fay  to  some  other  post.  Finally  he  was 
transferred  to  Berlin,  and  Mr.  B.  Rush,  son  of  the  former  Minister, 
Richard  Rush,  was  sent  to  take  his  place.  The  latter  gentleman 
was  as  bland  and  obliging  as  the  susceptible  Fay  had  proved  the 
contrary;  and  thenceforward  matters  at  the  Legation  resumed 
their  wonted  smoothness.  Mr.  Fay,  in  the  tranquil  sphere  of 
Berlin,  where  diplomatic  labour  was  far  less  onerous  than  in 
London,  devoted  his  leisure  to  literature,  and  wrote  some  very 
popular  novels.  After  some  years  at  this  post  he  was  sent  as 
resident  Minister  to  Switzerland. 

I  made  the  acquaintance  one  day  of  Mr.  Stephen  Price,  then 
a  resident  of  London.  He  was  a  New  Yorker  by  birth,  and 
inherited  a  handsome  property.  During  the  earlier  part  of  his 
career  he  had  a  duel  with  Mr.  McKenzie,  afterwards  better 
known  as  Slidell,  the  Senator  from  Louisiana.  Jealousy  led  to  the 
quarrel ;  and  in  the  rencontre  Price  was  severely  wounded.  Grow 
ing  tired  of  an  idle  life,  he  gave  way  to  \\ispenchantfor  theatricals, 
and  became  part-lessee  of  the  Park  Theatre,  New  York.  After 


London  Revisited.  373 


some  years  he  came  to  London,  and  assumed  the  direction  of 
Drury  Lane  Theatre.  In  this  venture  he  damaged  his  fortune, 
and  finally  retired  from  it  a  wiser,  if  a  poorer,  man.  He  was  an 
odd  kind  of  a  man,  and  not  one  of  the  most  conciliating  of 
mortals  in  point  of  disposition.  He  was  cross-grained  and 
arbitrary,  but  well-informed,  good-hearted,  and  very  hospitable. 
He  had  a  fine  house  in  Tavistock-square,  and  gave  frequent 
entertainments,  where  you  were  always  sure  to  meet  all  the  well- 
known  men  of  the  day,  literary,  journalistic,  and  artistic. 

James  Smith,  who  with  his  brother  Horace  wrote  those  re 
markable  parodies  in  verse  called  the  Rejected  A  ddressesy  dined 
there  frequently.  He  was  a  great  wit,  and  often  '  set  the  table 
on  a  roar,'  though  he  preserved  meanwhile  a  solemnity  of  visage, 
as  if  wholly  unconscious  of  the  cause  of  merriment.  He  was  one 
of  the  few  humorists  I  ever  met  who  did  not  laugh  the  loudest 
at  his  own  sallies. 

Theodore  Hook  was  another  habitue  of  Price's  table.  He  was 
the  editor  of  a  popular  weekly  journal,  and  his  articles  were 
always  written  with  force  and  pungency.  He  was  a  '  diner-out' 
of  great  repute,  and  his  conversation  overflowed  with  bons  mots 
and  repartee.  One  of  his  favourite  feats  was  to  spin  verses  on  all 
the  persons  assembled  at  a  dinner,  and  this  he  did  with  the  greatest 
facility  and  point.  He  was  a  practical  joker,  too,  of  no  mean 
order  when  circumstances  prompted  it.  I  heard  a  good  story  of 
his  skill  in  this  line.  He  was  out-  upon  a  country  walk  one  day 
with  some  friends,  when  they  were  all  overtaken  by  the  pangs  of 
hunger.  There  was  no  inn  nearer  than  some  five  or  six  miles, 
and  they  bemoaned  their  sad  fate  at  so  long  a  delay.  Of  a  sudden 
Hook  proposed  they  should  go  and  dine  at  a  fine  mansion  loom 
ing  in  the  distance. 

1  What  nonsense  !'  echoed  his  party. 

*  I  am  serious,'  responded  Hook  ;  '  and  if  you  will  only  follow 
my  instructions,  I  guarantee  you  the  best  the  house  can  provide.' 

He  then  suggested  they  should  pass  themselves  off  as  a  body 
of  surveyors,  who  had  come  to  select  the  line  of  one  of  the  new 
railways  then  under  consideration  for  this  part  of  the  country. 
Greatly  diverted  at  the  proposition,  they  followed  their  jovial 
leader,  who  made  his  way  at  once  to  the  house  in  question,  and 
singled  out  the  beautiful  lawn  as  the  proper  theatre  of  operations. 
Spreading  themselves  all  over  it,  they  began  with  their  walking- 
sticks  to  measure  out  the  ground,  assuming  meanwhile  the 


374  London  Revisited. 


serious  aspect  of  conscientious  officials  wholly  intent  on  their 
work.  Of  course  they  were  seen  at  once  by  the  family  from  the 
windows  of  the  drawing-room  opening  on  the  lawn,  and  servants 
were  sent  out  to  order  them  away. 

'  We  are  engaged/  said  Hook  gravely, '  on  Government  work.' 

When  this  was  reported,  the  master  of  the  manor  came  out 
quite  perplexed  to  know  what  they  were  at. 

'  Only  laying  out  the  line  for  the  new  railway/  returned 
Hook,  shouting  at  the  same  time  to  his  assistants  to  be  a  little 
more  spry. 

'  Good  heavens  !'  ejaculated  the  astounded  proprietor,  *a  rail 
way  through  my  grounds,  and  right  across  my  lawn  !' 

A  parley  ensued,  and  the  surveying  party  were  earnestly 
invited  to  come  into  the  house  to  talk  the  matter  over,  and  to 
see  if  there  was  no  possibility  of  diverting  the  line  a  little  farther 
to  the  north  or  south.  As  the  party  admitted  they  had  not  yet 
had  time  to  dine,  the  larder  was  emptied  of  its  choicest  contents,, 
and  the  rarest  wines  were  brought  from  the  cellar.  At  the  end 
of  a  delicious  repast  the  soi-disant  surveyor  announced  that  he 
would  do  his  best  to  spare  the  lawn,  and,  if  practicable,  to  take 
the  railway  by  a  different  route.  His  unsuspecting  host  was 
overjoyed,  and,  hearing  the  party  had  some  distance  to  travel,, 
immediately  ordered  his  carriage  to  convey  them  to  their  desti 
nation.  '  Hook  and  I  and  the  rest  of  us/  said  my  informant, 
'  came  away  jubilant  over  our  bold  stroke,  that  procured  us  a 
glorious  dinner  our  victim  could  well  afford.' 

Another  intimate  friend  of  Price  I  often  met  was  a  popular 
physician,  who  was  celebrated  for  his  voice  of  unrivalled  sweet 
ness.  It-  was  a  rare  treat  to  hear  him  sing  one  of  Moore's  Melo 
dies,  and  it  was  impossible  to  listen  to  his  execution  of '  Oft  in 
the  stilly  night'  without  deep  emotion.  He  was  a  handsome 
man,  with  a  soft  and  winning  manner.  He  had  a  large  practice 
and  a  wide  circle  of  friends.  He  was  fond  of  company,  and 
entertained  delightfully  at  his  comfortable  house  in  Audley- 
street  At  the  pressing  request  of  Price  I  got  the  Minister  to 
appoint  him  '  Physician  to  the  American  Legation/  which  added 
to  his  prestige  in  London  eyes.  One  day,  somewhat  later  on,  I 
was  startled  to  learn  the  admired  Doctor  had  disappeared,  and 
his  wife  and  children  were  in  great  trouble  at  his  mysterious 
eclipse.  Not  long  afterwards  his  friends  were  shocked  to  discover 
that  he  had  left  the  country,  and,  what  was  worse,  had  taken  as 


London  Revisited.  375 


a  travelling  companion  the  wife  of  one  of  his  friends.  The 
demented  couple  made  their  way  to  New  York,  intending  to 
begin  life  anew  in  a  new  world.  They  soon  began  to  see  things 
in  a  clearer  light  in  that  bright  atmosphere,  and  their  illusions 
rapidly  vanished.  They  mutually  confessed  they  had  made  a 
mistake,  and  that  the  best  thing  was  to  go  right  back  and  admit 
it.  So  off  they  started  for  their  desecrated  homes,  full  of  repent 
ance  and  apologies.  How  the  erring  lady  fared  I  know  not ;  but 
the  irresistible  Doctor,  by  degrees,  recovered  many  of  his  old 
patients,  and  not  a  few  of  his  indulgent  friends.  In  spite  of  his 
meek  looks  and  mild  manners  he  evidently  had  confidence  in 
himself,  and,  above  all,  in  the  magic  of  his  voice.  He  felt  quite 
sure, 

'  Though  he  had  cast  off  his  friends,  as  a  huntsman  his  pack, 
He  knew,  when  he  pleased,  he  could  sing  them  all  back.' 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

LONDON  REVISITED  (continued}. 

FORREST  AT  DRURY  LANE — THE  LONDON  PRESS. 

As  the  news  began  to  spread  through  the  theatrical  world  that 
an  American  tragedian  was  coming  to  challenge  English  criticism 
on  the  boards  of  Drury  Lane,  a  considerable  movement  soon 
revealed  itself  in  dramatic  circles.  Some  were  curious,  others 
friendly,  but  not  a  few  decidedly  hostile.  As  I  had  been 
urgent  in  my  advice  to  my  friend  Forrest  to  try  his  luck  in 
London,  I  felt  a  keen  sense  of  responsibility,  and  began  to  think 
the  matter  anxiously  over.  He  had  selected  for  his  debut  the 
rble  of  Othello ;  but  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  this  was  in 
judicious.  It  would  arouse  the  prejudices  of  the  friends  of  Mac- 
ready  and  Kean  to  see  a  foreigner  undertake  a  part  which  both 
of  these  favourite  actors  had  played  with  great  success ;  and  as 
their  version  was  pronounced  quite  perfect,  Forrest's  impersona 
tion  would  be  condemned  if  it  differed,  as  it  was  sure  to  do,  from 
the  accepted  standard.  It  occurred  to  me  that  it  would  be  wiser 
if  he  appeared  in  some  character  where  comparisons  could  not 
be  instituted,  where  criticism  would  be  more  disinterested,  if  not 
disarmed. 

Full  of  this  conviction,  I  went  to  the  manager  of  Drury  Lane, 
who  knew  of  my  intimate  relations  with  Forrest,  and  laid  my 
views  of  the  matter  before  him.  He  was  influenced  by  my  rea 
soning,  and  asked  what  I  proposed  to  substitute  for  Othello.  I 
handed  him  the  play  of  the  Gladiator,  which  was  not  only  un 
known  in  London,  but  was  one  of  Forrest's  grandest  rdles.  He 
told  me  next  day,  after  reading  it,  that  he  was  quite  of  my 
opinion,  and  would  set  to  work  at  once  in  getting  it  ready.  A 
fortnight  after,  the  tragedian  arrived  in  London,  and  was  at  first 
annoyed  to  hear  the  Gladiator  was  in  preparation  for  his  first 
appearance,  but  I  soon  won  him  over  to  my  point  of  view. 

On  the  i/th  of  October  he  made  his  bow  to  the  British 
public.  Old  Drury  was  crowded  from  pit  to  ceiling  with  an 
eager  and  excited  audience.  All  the  friends  of  the  popular 


London  Revisited.  377 


actors  of  the  day  congregated  in  force.  The  American  Minister 
and  all  the  fellow-countrymen  of  Forrest  were  likewise  present. 
There  was  silence  till  Spartacus,  the  Gladiator,  came  forward, 
when  a  hearty  shout  of  welcome  broke  forth  from  all  parts  of  the 
house.  His  magnificent  person  astonished  those  who  had  never 
seen  him.  His  rich  and  powerful  voice  thrilled  all  who  had  not 
heard  it.  His  earnest  impassioned  acting  quite  electrified  the 
audience.  At  the  end  he  was  overwhelmed  with  applause,  and 
it  was  plain  he  had  secured  a  hold  on  British  sympathies  which 
he  never  lost.  There  was  a  clique  present,  who  were  disappointed 
by  his  success,  and  when  he  appeared  at  the  general  demand  to 
make  his  acknowledgments  they  raised  a  cry  of '  Shakespeare, 
Shakespeare  !'  Their  object  was  evident.  The  partisans  of  the 
popular  actors  of  the  time  knew  it  would  be  easier  to  arouse 
opposition  to  a  foreigner  should  he  attempt  roles  the  public 
were  accustomed  to  see  played  according  to  the  idiosyncrasies 
of  the  tragedians  who  had  successfully  assumed  them,  and  which 
only  proved  my  judgment  was  correct  in  suggesting  an  original 
part  for  Forrest's  debut.  The  press  was  almost  unanimous  in 
its  approval,  though  some  among  them,  it  must  be  admitted, 
were 

'  Willing  to  wound,  and  yet  afraid  to  strike; 
Just  hint  a  fault,  and  hesitate  dislike.' 

I  will  extract  a  paragraph  or  two  from  one  of  the  London 
journals  as  a  fair  sample  of  the  criticism  on  the  occasion. 

'  So  much  interest,'  said  the  writer,  '  has  not  for  a  long  time 
been  felt  in  any  event  connected  with  theatrical  affairs  as  was 
on  Monday  night  occasioned  by  the  first  appearance  at  Drury 
Lane  Theatre,  and  on  English  boards,  of  Mr.  Edwin  Forrest,  the 
American  tragedian.  After  witnessing  Mr.  Forrest's  representa 
tion,  we  can  acknowledge  that  in  him  the  States  have  com 
menced  the  repayment  of  a  heavy  debt  long  due  to  the  old 
country.  .  .  .  The  characteristics  of  his  acting  are  simplicity, 
sincerity,  and  energy.  Subtleties  of  passion — passion  highly 
spiritualised — would,  we  should  suppose,  utterly  baffle  him,  while 
to  the  broad  feelings  which  are  the  foundation  of  all  hearts  he 
can  impart  an  extraordinary  power.  His  action  is  full  of  variety 
and  grace,  but  at  the  same  time  it  partakes  overmuch  of  the 
athletic  style.  There  were  several  passages,  not  points,  in  Mr.  For 
rest's  performance  which  were  exceedingly  fine.  The  agony  of 
generous  grief,  subduing  the  desire  of  vengeance,  which  he  dis- 


37 8  London  Revisited. 

plays  in  the  last  act  was  expressed  by  him  with  tremendous 
force,  which  reminded  us  above  anything  we  have  ever  seen 
on  the  stage  of  the  face  of  the  Laocoon,  or  of  Canova's  Hercules 
writhing  under  the  tortures  of  the  poisoned  scarf.  On  the  whole, 
and  with  every  allowance  for  blemishes,  Mr.  Forrest's  Spartacus 
must  be  pronounced  a  noble  piece  of  acting.  We  must  add  that 
Mr.  Forrest's  reception  was  such  as  his  warmest  friends  could 
desire :  it  was  enthusiastic  in  the  extreme  on  his  entrance  ;  he 
was  frequently  applauded  heartily  during  the  performance ;  and 
at  the  end  he  was  called  before  the  curtain,  and  greeted  with  most 
prolonged  cheering,  and  waving  of  hats  and  handkerchiefs  from 
all  parts  of  the  house.  More  enthusiasm,  in  fact,  we  scarcely 
ever  witnessed  on  the  part  of  an  audience  in  a  British  theatre.' 

The  Gladiator  was  twice  repeated  to  immense  crowds  ;  but 
such  was  the  reiterated  demand  for  '  Shakespeare'  that  Othello 
was  announced.  One  of  the  papers  remarked  on  this  notification  : 
>  Othello  will  be  a  great  test  of  his  talents,  for  of  late  years 
audiences  have  seen  Kean,  Young,  C.  Kemble,  Macready,  and 
Vandenhoff  in  this  character,  and  they  have  therefore  formed  a 
standard  of  excellence  by  which  they  can  measure  the  abilities 
of  any  new  aspirant.'  Forrest's  Othello  stirred  up  the  critics 
tremendously.  The  impersonation  differed  materially,  as  I  knew 
it  did,  from  the  '  standard  of  excellence '  just  alluded  to,  and 
he  was  sharply  assailed  by  the  partisans  of  the  rival  actors  ;  and 
I  considered  it  fortunate,  as  Forrest  did  also,  that  he  had  not 
made  his  first  appearance  in  this  character.  He  was  too  firmly 
established  by  his  acting  in  the  Gladiator  to  be  damaged  by 
interested  disparagement  or  the  clamour  of  a  cabal.  He  con 
tinued  to  grow  in  favour,  and  played  during  the  winter  of  1836 
and  the  spring  of  1837.  His  longest  run  was  in  Macbeth. 

Forrest  received  many  gratifying  compliments.  His  brethren 
of  DruryLane  presented  him  with  a  gold  snuff-box;  and  some  of 
the  leading  members  of  the  profession  gave  him  a  dinner  at  the 
Garrick  Club,  at  which  Macready  and  C.  Kemble  were  present 
With  his  usual  shyness,  he  declined  many  flattering  tenders  of 
hospitality  from  distinguished  admirers,  and  I  had  some  diffi 
culty  in  inducing  him  to  meet  a  dinner-party  at  the  Minister's. 

During  this  period  he  renewed  his  attentions  to  the  lovely 
Miss  Sinclair,  and  it  was  easy  to  perceive  that  he  was  yielding 
more  and  more  to  the  power  of  her  incontestable  attractions  of 
mind  and  person.  I  was  not  at  all  surprised  when  he  told  me 


London  Revisited.  379 


one  day  that  he  had  proposed,  was  accepted,  and  meant  to 
marry  at  the  end  of  his  engagement  in  the  spring.  I  was  glad 
he  had  quite  forgotten  his  anti- English  prejudices,  and  congratu 
lated  him  cordially  on  the  future  possession  of  so  amiable  and 
charming  a  girl. 

I  was  in  raptures  with  the  daily  press  of  London.  It  far 
transcended  all  I  had  seen  in  Europe.  Materially  the  contrast 
was  striking — the  paper  used  was  so  white  and  firm  after  the 
thin  dun-colour  sheets  of  the  French,  and  the  type  so  distinct, 
varying  in  size  with  the  importance  of  the  topic.  The  writing, 
however,  astonished  me  even  more.  The  knowledge  displayed 
was  masterly,  whilst  the  style  was  remarkable  for  elevation  and 
grace.  These  conspicuous  features  were  nevertheless  subordi 
nate  to  the  amount  and  variety  of  information  in  their  columns 
— correspondence  from  all  parts  of  the  world,  as  well  as  prompt 
and  complete  intelligence  on  domestic  events.  The  parlia 
mentary  debates  of  the  night  were  fully  reported  the  ensuing 
morning,  and  every  new  opera  or  play  immediately  criticised. 

One  other  peculiarity  struck  me  forcibly.  In  France  and  the 
United  States  it  was  the  editor,  not  the  journal,  that  addressed 
the  reader.  His  personality  took  precedence,  and  his  opinions 
were  duly  set  forth,  often  ostentatiously.  But  London  journalism 
was  shrouded  in  mystery.  The  editors,  writers,  and  contributors 
were  all  unknown.  The  deities  who  inspiried  the  diurnal  oracles 
were  wrapt  in  the  same  obscurity  as  those  of  the  Greeks  and 
Romans.  Of  course  this  enhanced  their  effect.  If  they  could 
have  been  traced  to  a  mere  literary  employe,  the  aristocatic  world 
especially  would  have  sneered  at  them.  This  impersonality  was 
essentially  English,  and  was  characteristic  of  the  social  organi 
sation  existing.  If  a  noble  lord  or  a  prominent  statesman  were 
editing  a  paper,  it  might  have  given  it  importance  ;  but  it  would 
lose  it  entirely  if  Brown  or  Jones,  however  able,  announced  him 
self  as  the  editor. 

It  was  somewhat  strange  in  a  population  not  far  from  two 
millions  that  only  four  leading  morning  papers  were  published. 
There  were  also  four  evening  ones,  little  read.  It  was  stranger 
still  that  the  circulation  of  the  morning  journals  was  so  limited. 
The  explanation  of  this  was  doubtless  the  high  price  of  four 
teen  cents  a  copy  ;  and  the  principal  cause  of  this  clearness  were 
the  various  imposts  levied  by  the  Government.  They  were 
subject  to  a  tax  on  stamps,  on  advertisements,  and  on  paper. 


380  London  Revisited. 


Efforts  were  making  to  remove  one  or  all  of  these,  and  this 
would  lead  necessarily  to  a  reduction  in  price.* 

These  papers  were  hired  out  by  newsvendors  by  the  hour,. 
and  the  reader  could  peruse  them  all  for  a  less  sum  than  the 
price  of  one  of  them.  Such  was  the  enormous  expense  of  a. 
London  daily  that  even  fourteen  cents  a  copy  would  not  defray 
it.  The  profit  was  on  the  advertisements,  which  were  numerous 
and  costly. 

Nothing  was  more  extraordinary  than  the  preponderance  of 
the  Times  over  its  rivals.  It  was  not  only  far  better  written, 
but  its  reports  were  more  perfect,  its  news  more  extensive,  and 
its  correspondence  more  complete.  This  was  due  to  the  supe 
rior  tact  and  capacity  of  the  principal  owner,  who  was  known 
in  the  craft  to  be  Mr.  Walter.  This  journal  was  founded  in 
1788  by  his  father,  but  it  owed  its  exalted  position  entirely  to 
the  son.  On  one  occasion  the  proceedings  at  a  public  dinner  at 
Glasgow,  to  the  Earl  of  Durham,  were  brought  to  the  Times  by 
relays  of  horses  in  less  than  twenty-seven  hours.  As  the  dis 
tance  is  four  hundred  miles,  the  speed  achieved  was  some  fifteen 
miles  the  hour — quite  unprecedented.  The  same  energy  had 
been  displayed  in  mechanical  improvements,  but  the  greatest 
feat  was  the  employment  in  1814  of  steam  for  printing  the 
Times,  which  produced  four  thousand  copies  an  hour.  Previous 
to  this  the  printing  of  the  daily  journals  was  by  the  hand-press, 
which  only  supplied  five  hundred  impressions  the  hour,  and  it 
was  therefore  necessary  to  go  to  press  early  to  get  the  paper 
out  in  proper  time  in  the  morning.  Consequently  all  news,  how 
ever  important,  that  arrived  after  this  was  necessarily  delayed 
for  twenty-four  hours.  With  a  view  to  economise  time,  it  was 
usual,  before  steam  was  introduced,  to  set  up  the  paper  in  dupli 
cate  ;  and  even  then  it  required  ten  hours  to  work  off  the  Times 
edition. 

This  journal  was  the  first  to  issue  a  double  sheet,  in  order  to 
make  room  for  its  excess  of  matter  and  flow  of  advertisements. 
The  press  of  the  world  is  under  obligations  to  the  sagacity  and 
untiring  assiduity  of  the  then  chief  owner  of  the  Times.  He  had 
reaped  meanwhile  a  splendid  reward  in  the  profits  of  his  journal, 
which  was  said  to  yield  a  net  income  of  some  200,000  dollars  per 
annum. 

*  Such  was  the  condition  of  the  London  press  forty  years  ago.    The  abolition  of 
the  taxes  mentioned  has  led  to  a  great  reduction  of  price  and  increased  circulation* 


London  Revisited.  381 


It  was  amusing  to  compare  the  Times  of  that  day  with  a 
number  of  the  first  newspaper  established  in  England  in  1622,. 
called  the  Certaine  News  of  the  Present  Week,  which  may  be  seen 
in  the  British  Museum.  The  Times  was  the  youngest  of  the  four 
daily  papers.  The  Morning  Chronicle  was  established  in  1769, 
the  Morning  Post  in  1772,  and  the  Morning  Herald  in  1780,  but 
the  juvenile  far  outstripped  all  its  predecessors.  It  is  odd  that 
it  was  not  till  1758  that  any  original  composition  appeared  in 
an  English  newspaper.  In  that  year  the  celebrated  Dr.  Johnson 
was  employed  to  write  original  articles  for  the  Universal  Chronicle 
and  Weekly  Gazette,  and  the  essays  of  the  great  lexicographer 
were  afterwards  republished  in  the  Idler. 

The  London  press  was  ever  eager  in  its  pursuit  of  the  latest 
news — the  first  want  of  a  commercial  community;  but  it  took  an 
equally  active  part  in  the  political  discussions  of  the  day.  Each 
paper  was  the  organ  of  one  of  the  two  leading  parties.  The  policy 
of  the  Times  was  to  give  an  independent  support  to  the  Govern 
ment  of  the  hour,  as  representing  the  opinion  of  the  country. 

One  striking  merit  was  shared  by  all  the  daily  press  in  com 
mon,  for  though  there  might  be  degrees  of  difference  as  to  ability  y 
there  was  none  whatever  as  to  the  high  tone  and  good  taste  which 
distinguished  them  alike.  The  moral  effect  of  this  on  all  classes 
in  England  must  have  been  very  beneficial,  but  I  fancy  it  was  to 
be  attributed  not  a  little  to  the  manners  of  the  day.  Extreme 
opinions  or  violent  language  were  generally  regarded  with  dis 
favour,  and  the  respectability  of  a  journal  or  of  an  individual  was 
compromised  by  indulgence  in  either. 

The  weekly  journals  of  London  were  not  a  whit  inferior  in 
capacity  to  the  daily  press. 

The  monthly  magazines  were  very  numerous  and  ably  written. 
One  of  them,  the  Gentleman's  Magazine,  was  over  a  hundred 
years  old,  having  been  founded  in  1733.  It  was  still  vigorous 
and  much  read  in  the  country.  It  was  curious  to  contrast  its 
style  with  that  of  sixty  or  seventy  years  previously.  It  then  in 
dulged  in  a  pruriency  of  language  and  coarseness  of  matter  which 
reflected  the  tone  of  the  epoch,  but  that  would  later  have  led 
to  its  immediate  suppression  as  an  obscene  publication.  Who 
reads  nowadays  the  works  of  Fielding,  written  nearly  twenty 
years  after  the  rise  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine  ?  The  growth 
of  refinement  in  diction  and  morals  has  been  rapid,  as  it  is  mar 
vellous  bv  contrast. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

EX-KING  JOSEPH  BONAPARTE — CONVERSATION  WITH  MR.  MANSFIELD — ENGLAND 
AND  THE  UNITED  STATES  DISCUSSED. 

CALLING  one  day,  as  I  was  in  the  frequent  habit  of  doing,  on 
Mrs.  Joshua  Bates,  I  found  her  conversing  in  French  with  two 
gentlemen  who  were  evidently  foreigners.  After  a  word  of  wel 
come  I  sat  down  to  listen  to  the  conversation.  Mrs.  Bates 
directed  her  remarks  chiefly  to  the  elder  of  her  two  guests, 
whom  she  addressed  as  Count.  She  seemed  on  familiar  terms  ; 
yet  there  was  a  marked  deference  in  her  manner,  which  showed 
she  held  him  in  great  respect.  My  curiosity  Was  excited,  and  I 
contemplated  him  with  great  attention.  He  was  beyond  middle 
age,  though  his  hair  was  not  gray,  and  his  face  was  round  and 
fresh.  The  head  was  large  and  well-shaped,  the  brow  ample,  and 
the  features  regular.  He  was  about  medium  height,  and  some 
what  stout.  His  manner  was  unaffected,  though  rather  reserved, 
The  countenance  was  remarkable  for  its  mild  and  benevolent 
expression.  He  talked  with  a  certain  deliberation,  and  only  on 
simple  topics.  After  a  little  while  he  desired  Mrs.  Bates  to 
introduce  me  to  him,  and  I  was  presented  to  the  Count  de 
Survilliers. 

It  was  no  other  than  Joseph  Bonaparte,  ex-King  of  Spain 
and  elder  brother  of  the  great  Napoleon.  I  was  filled  with  sur 
prise  and  emotion  at  thus  unexpectedly  making  the  acquaintance 
of  this  distinguished  person.  He  asked  me  how  long  I  had  been 
connected  with  the  Legation,  and  next  from  what  part  of  the 
United  States  I  came.  Hearing  that  I  was  from  Philadelphia, 
he  spoke  of  having  resided  there  occasionally,  and  of  knowing 
many  citizens  of  the  town.  When  he  rose  to  go,  after  bidding 
-adieu  to  his  hostess,  he  said  he  should  be  happy  to  see  me  at  his 
house.  Mrs.  Bates  congratulated  me  on  having  made  a  favour 
able  impression  on  her  good  friend  the  Count,  who  came  often, 
she  said,  to  see  her,  and  frequently  consulted  Mr.  Bates  on  his 


London  Revisited.  383 


financial  affairs,  as  the  Barings  were  his  bankers.  I  went  away 
highly  contented  at  my  good  fortune  in  meeting  one  of  the 
leading  figures  of  the  First  French  Empire. 

The  career  of  Joseph  Bonaparte  was  full  of  startling  vicissi 
tudes  ;  more  so  than  any  other  member  of  Napoleon's  family. 
Born  in  1768  in  Corsica,  he  was  intended  for  the  bar.  In  1796 
he  was  sent  by  Corsica  as  Deputy  to  the  *  Council  of  Five 
Hundred.'  In  1797  he  was  made  Ambassador  at  Rome.  In 
1 80 1  he  signed  the  Treaty  of  Luneville  on  the  part  of  France 
with  Austria.  In  1802  he  signed  the  Treaty  of  Peace  with  Eng 
land  at  Amiens.  In  1806  he  was  raised  to  the  throne  of  Naples, 
and  by  his  conciliatory  policy  won  the  good-will  of  the  people. 
Against  his  will  he  was  transferred  in  1808  to  the  throne  of 
Spain,  where  his  reign  was  disturbed  by  constant  conflicts  with 
the  English  army  under  Wellington,  ending  in  the  disastrous 
battle  of  Vittoria.  In  1814  he  became  Lieutenant-General  of 
the  Empire,  whilst  Napoleon  was  struggling  against  the  Allies 
In  1815,  after  the  defeat  at  Waterloo,  he  embarked  for  the 
United  States.  He  chartered  a  vessel  for  this  purpose,  and 
urged  his  brother  the  Emperor  to  share  his  flight.  The  risk  was 
great,  as  the  sea  was  covered  with  English  cruisers.  Napoleon 
refused,  but  Joseph  reached  the  States  in  safety.  He  built  a 
princely  residence  at  Bordentown,  in  New  Jersey,  and  lived  there 
calmly  for  many  years,  occupied  with  agriculture  and  engaged 
in  the  composition  of  his  memoirs.  He  returned,  not  many 
years  after,  to  England,  where  he  had  since  resided.  This  is  but 
a  meagre  outline  of  a  career  crowded  with  varied  and  moving 
incidents.  Of  all  the  brothers  he  was  the  most  beloved  by  Napo 
leon  ;  and  it  was  his  practice  never  to  thwart  the  Emperor's 
wishes,  which  the  others  repeatedly  did. 

I  called  at  the  mansion  of  the  ex-King  in  Park-crescent  the 
day  after  meeting  him  at  Mr.  Bates's  house,  and  left  my  card. 
A  few  days  later  I  received  an  invitation  to  dinner.  I  met  with 
a  kind  welcome  from  my  illustrious  host,  and  was  presented  to 
the  members  of  his  household,  Messrs.  Maillard  and  Thibaud, 
his  two  secretaries,  and  to  Mdlle.  Thibaud,  the  daughter  of  the 
latter,  a  pretty  girl  of  sixteen,  with  sparkling  black  eyes,  and  that 
quiet  subdued  manner  characteristic  of  young  Frenchwomen.  1 
recognised  among  the  guests  Lord  Dudley  Stuart,  a  prominent 
public  man  of  the  day,  who  married  a  daughter  of  Lucien 
Bonaparte,  Prince  of  Canino,  and  a  niece,  therefore,  of  the 


3  84  London  Revisited. 


Count  de  Survilliers.  She  was  the  only  lady-guest  at  table,  and 
was  exceedingly  animated  in  manner  and  conversation. 

Nothing  could  be  more  simple  and  unaffected  than  the  bear 
ing  of  the  Count.  There  was  a  gentleness  in  his  manner  that 
impressed  all  who  approached  him.  As  I  contemplated  his 
benignant  countenance  and  simple  air  as  he  sat  at  table,  it  was 
difficult  to  imagine  his  career  had  been  so  stormy — that  he  had 
twice  sat  upon  a  throne,  had  commanded  armies  in  the  field, 
had  presided  over  the  destinies  of  France  in  moments  of  extreme 
emergency.  He  spoke  but  little  during  dinner  ;  but  towards  the 
close  an  inquiry  was  made  by  Lord  Dudley  Stuart  as  to  some 
event  connected  with  Napoleon's  reign,  and,  in  replying,  the 
Count  began  to  comment  on  the  epoch  in  question.  As  he 
went  on  he  grew  more  animated.  His  recollections  of  men 
and  incidents  were  recalled  with  singular  distinctness,  and  re 
lated  in  language  equally  vivid  and  graphic.  All  sat  silent  in 
rapt  attention,  and  for  nearly  an  hour  he  continued  to  talk, 
revealing  the  unwritten  history  of  many  great  events  of  which 
he  had  been  an  eye-witness. 

I  constantly  frequented  the  hospitable  residence  of  the 
Mansfields,  where  I  was  ever  a  welcome  guest.  Mr.  Mansfield 
was  agreeable  and  chatty,  a  thorough  man  of  the  world,  well 
read,  and  of  independent  mind,  with  complete  knowledge  of  his 
own  country,  and  a  lively  recollection  of  the  United  States,  that 
he  always  spoke  of  kindly.  I  never  conversed  with  him  without 
benefiting  by  his  sagacious  observations.  One  day  after  dinner, 
as  we  were  sitting  alone,  I  began  to  remark  on  the  aristocratic 
structure  of  English  society. 

'  Nothing  interests  me  more,5  I  said,  '  than  to  observe  with 
what  ready  complacency  the  inequalities  of  social  position 
amongst  Englishmen  of  all  classes  are  acknowledged.  Amongst 
the  aristocracy  themselves  the  different  degrees  of  rank  are 
cheerfully  recognised,  and  the  lower  in  title  promptly  give  way 
to  those  higher  in  the  scale.  At  dinner,  as  at  Court,  all 
are  arranged  according  to  their  grade,  and  no  one  dreams  of 
disputing  another's  precedence.  This  classification  in  degrees 
of  dignity  descends,  I  observe,  through  all  gradations  of  society, 
down  to  the  very  lowest.  In  the  middle  class  the  same  willing 
submission  is  accorded  to  all  superior  claims,  whether  founded 
on  money  or  accidental  distinction.  Even  in  the  lower  class  I 
perceive  the  same  spirit  prevails.  Those  in  anywise  better  off 


London  Revisited.  385 


are  allowed  a  priority  no  one  is  inclined  to  contest.  Among  the 
servants  there  is  no  such  thing  as  social  equality.  Your  butler, 
housekeeper,  valet,  and  lady's-maid  have  a  room  apart,  and  dine 
by  themselves,  which  the  rest  accept  as  a  matter  of  course. 
Thus,  from  high  to  low,  the  spirit  of  aristocracy  leavens  every 
stratum  of  English  society,  and  to  one  accustomed  to  democratic 
usages,  where  one  man  is  considered  as  good  as  another,  the 
effect  is  not  only  novel,  but  somewhat  displeasing.' 

'  I  can  well  understand,'  said  my  cordial  host,  '  that  to  an 
American  our  aristocratic  organisation  is  strange,  if  not  offen 
sive.  From  the  days  of  the  Normans,  who  brought  over  their 
feudal  institutions  with  them — primogeniture  amongst  the  rest 
— the  aristocracy  have  kept  the  lead  in  our  society.  They  owe 
this  preponderance  not  so  much  to  their  wealth  and  privileges 
as  to  their  real  merit  and  hard  work.  For  several  centuries 
they  were  always  in  the  front  of  battle,  whether  against  the 
enemy  abroad  or  the  assaults  of  tyranny  at  home.  To  them  we 
are  indebted  for  Magna  Charta  and  all  the  liberties  we  enjoy. 
In  these  days  of  popular  progress  they  still  maintain  their  ascen 
dency.  Instead  of  their  swords  they  now  use  their  intellect,  and 
fear  no  rivalry  from  any  quarter.  In  Parliament,  on  the  hust 
ings,  and  in  all  public  movements  they  are  ever  to  the  fore,  and 
in  ability  of  every  kind  they  display  a  marked  superiority. 
Above  all,  they  are  free  from  the  petty  jealousies  of  a  caste,  and 
if  they  encounter  a  competitor  worthy  of  high  honours,  they  are 
readily  conceded,  and  one  aristocrat  the  more  is  added  to  the 
list.  Voilci,  tout.  It  is  impossible,  I  consider  it,  to  deny  rank, 
power,  and  wealth  to  an  aristocracy  which  wins  them  by  intel 
lectual  prowess,  for  nowadays  that  is  the  means  by  which  alone 
they  can  be  achieved.  The  aristocracy  are  as  energetic  and  as 
much  respected  now  as  in  the  twelfth  century,  though  their 
tenure,  so  to  speak,  is  rather  intellectual  than  feudal.  It  is 
natural  that  where  an  aristocracy  has  existed  for  so  many  cen 
turies,  and  which  is  still  socially  as  strong  as  ever,  that  its 
usages,  habits,  and  even  prejudices  should  be  copied  and  adopted 
throughout  the  whole  community.  Besides,  it  strikes  me  the 
aristocratic  principle  is  deeply  planted  in  the  human  breast. 
Every  man  is  struggling  to  get  the  better  of  the  other  in  one 
fashion  or  another,  and  succeeds  if  his  intelligence  is  superior. 
The  homage  paid  to  the  higher  intellect  is  a  spontaneous  con 
cession  from  the  lower  one,  and  it  is  just  as  prevalent  in  your 

CC 


386  London  Revisited. 

democracy  as  in  our  aristocracy.  You  hurrah  over  your  leading 
men,  your  Jacksons,  Clays,  and  Websters,  as  much  as  we  do 
over  our  Wellingtons,  Greys,  and  Russells.' 

'  Yes/  I  replied,  '  but  we  do  not  give  them  hereditary  titles 
or  fortunes  ;  and  though  we  yield  them  precedence  and  defer 
ence,  it  is  all  voluntary.' 

'  Humph  !'  exclaimed  my  friend.  '  You  give  them  life-titles 
at  all  events.  The  first  soldiers  are  called  generals,  and  the 
statesmen  are  dignified  with  the  appellation  of  excellency  or 
honourable.  If  you  don't  compensate  them  in  proportion  to 
their  merit  and  services,  that  is  a  fault  of  your  system.  My 
doctrine  is,  "  The  labourer  is  worthy  of  his  hire  ;"  and  parsimony 
to  a  great  man  often  makes  him  a  dangerous  one.  Our  practice 
is  to  pay  well  for  valuable  service,  and  consequently  the  highest 
intellect  is  always  at  the  command  of  the  State.  Our  soldiers, 
statesmen,  and  judges  all  know  their  efforts  will  be  duly  re 
warded,  and  they  struggle  hard  to  obtain  it.  To  those  who  are 
indifferent  to  money,  or  who  possess  it,  we  give  titles  and  deco 
rations,  for  badges  of  distinction  are  always  an  incentive  to 
ambitious  men.' 

*  I  do  not  remonstrate/  I  remarked,  f  at  bestowing  honours 
on  distinguished  men,  but  why  transmit  them  to  their  successors, 
who  may  be  incapable  ?' 

'This  only  makes  the  prize/  answered  Mr.  Mansfield,  'more 
tempting,  and  stimulates  greater  exertion.  Besides,  the  families 
that  are  ennobled  or  enriched  are  under  bonds,  as  it  were,  to 
sustain  their  prestige,  which  leads  the  son  to  emulate  the  deeds 
of  his  father.  How  often  this  is  proved  in  the  history  of  our 
aristocracy  !  I  think  it  invidious,  if  not  illogical/  continued  my 
host,  '  to  institute  comparisons  between  the  institutions  of  dif 
ferent  countries,  which  are  the  result  of  antecedents  wholly  dif- 
ierent.  History  has  made  our  system  aristocratic,  and  yours 
democratic.  Time  alone  can  show  which  will  yield  the  best 
fruits  and  enjoy  the  longest  life.  But  one  defect  in  yqur  demo 
cratic  organisation  struck  me  forcibly  when  I  was  residing  in 
the  United  States,  namely,  that  your  public  positions  are  so 
shortlived  and  precarious,  and  so  inadequately  compensated, 
that  the  highest  intellect  of  the  nation  is  driven  to  private  em 
ployments,  to  the  professions,  and  to  commerce.  This  leaves 
the  public  service  in  the  hands  of  inferior  men,  which  I  consider 
detrimental  to  the  interests  of  the  country/ 


London  Revisited.  387 


'  I  admit/  was  my  reply,  '  there  is  some  justice  in  your  stric 
tures.  The  term  of  office  in  our  system  is  too  short  and  the 
scale  of  remuneration  too  low  to  tempt  superior  men  to  devote 
their  lives  to  a  political  career,  which  may  lead  to  injurious  re 
sults.  But,  as  you  suggested,  what  might  be  hurtful  to  you  may- 
bring  no  harm  to  us,  as  the  situations  of  the  two  countries  are 
so  unlike.  You  alluded  just  now  to  primogeniture.  There  is 
nothing  in  all  your  social  structure  so  repugnant  to  an  Ameri 
can  as  bestowing  on  the  eldest-born  all  the  property  and  honours 
of  the  family,  and  condemning  the  rest  to  inadequate  support. 
It  strikes  me  as  equally  unjust  and  unnatural.' 

'  Accustomed  as  you  are,'  observed  Mr.  Mansfield,  *  to  an< 
exact  distribution  of  property  amongst  all  the  children,  I  can 
imagine  your  dislike  to  primogeniture.  Yet  it  is  as  much  the 
keystone  of  our  system  as  an  equal  division  is  of  yours.  It  is- 
your  object  to  break  up  estates  to  strengthen  democracy,  and 
ours  is  to  preserve  them  to  fortify  aristocracy.  Primogeniture,, 
however,  is  an  ancient  institution.  It  existed  among  the 
Hebrews,  the  Egyptians,  and  the  Greeks.  Since  the  Christian 
era  it  has  prevailed  all  over  Europe.  It  was  overthrown  by  the 
Revolution  of  1789  in  France  ;  but  if  the  French  aristocracy  had 
not  become  worthless,  no  Revolution  would  have  occurred.  With 
us  it  has  lasted  since  the  eleventh  century,  and  to  it  we  owe  the 
preservation  of  our  aristocracy,  for  mere  titles  without  wealth 
are  a  mockery.  One  advantage  of  the  institution  is  that  whilst 
the  eldest  son  preserves  the  family  property  and  dignity,  the 
younger  ones  are  forced  to  exertion.  They  descend  into  the 
common  arena,  and  battle  with  all-comers  for  preferment.  Some 
go  into  the  army  and  navy  ;  some  into  the  professions  or  into 
commerce.  They  start  with  a  good  education,  which  they  owe 
to  the  paternal  estate  ;  and  instead  of  jealousy  of  the  heir,  they 
are  proud  to  belong  to  a  family  of  hereditary  possessions  and 
honours.  These  younger  sons  I  regard  as  the  backbone  of 
England.  Educated,  well  bred,  and  high  principled,  which  is 
their  chief  inheritance,  they  strive  to  sustain  the  lustre  of  their 
family  by  earning  more  distinction.  Our  illustrious  Wellington 
was  a  younger  son  ;  and  he  is  now  a  duke,  whilst  his  father  died 
an  earl.  It  is  not  the  first  time  that  a  younger  son  has  created  a 
title  and  a  family  greater  than  he  descended  from.  William  Pitt 
was  likewise  a  younger  son,  and  became  a  Prime  Minister,  as  his 
father  before  him.  Lord  John  Russell  the  leading  man  of  the 


388  London  Revisited. 


day,  is  a  younger  son  of  the  Duke  of  Bedford,  and  is  adding  to 
the  renown  of  his  house.' 

'  It  would  be  mere  prejudice/  I  conceded,  '  to  gainsay  your 
arguments ;  but  I  cannot  help  indulging  it,  brought  up  under  a 
system  so  opposed  to  yours,  and  which  reposes  on  the  absolute 
equality  of  all  men.' 

'  You  should  say,'  interposed  my  host,  ( political  equality,  for 
the  intellects  of  men  are  no  more  equal  than  their  condition  or 
their  stature.  Intelligence  makes  one  man  rich,  and  the  want  of 
it  keeps  the  other  poor.  Intelligence  gives  authority  to  one  set 
of  men,  and  those  without  it  remain  obscure.  Notwithstanding 
your  boasted  equality  in  the  United  States,  classes  there  are  as 
sharply  defined  as  with  us.  You  have  an  upper,  middle,  and 
lower  class,  representing  the  different  degrees  of  intelligence  of 
their  members — the  thinkers  at  the  top,  and  those  not  so  gifted 
at  the  bottom.  This  is  the  universal  law.  No  political  schemes 
or  theories  can  reverse  it.  Goldsmith  expressed  this  in  two 
lines : 

"  For  just  experience  tells,  in  every  soil, 
That  those  who  think  must  govern  those  who  toil." 

In  England  there  is  nothing  to  present  a  man  with  brains  reach 
ing  any  elevation  corresponding  to  his  calibre.  It  is  a  mistake 
that  noble  birth  is  requisite  to  success  in  this  country.  A 
majority  of  the  House  of  Lords,  I  may  venture  to  say,  represent 
self-made  families.' 

'  I  have  often  heard,'  I  remarked,  '  that  it  is  a  misfortune  for 
England  that  the  land  is  monopolised  by  a  limited  number  of 
wealthy  persons,  and  that  if  the  peasant  proprietorship  which 
prevails  in  France  were  introduced  here,  the  lower  agricultural 
class  would  be  greatly  alleviated.' 

'  That  is  all  twaddle,  believe  it,'  asserted  Mr.  M.  '  Look  in 
the  newspapers,  and  you  will  see  land  advertised  for  sale  in 
every  direction,  from  an  acre  upwards.  Of  course  there  are  large 
quantities  held  by  wealthy  individuals,  which  explains  'the  high 
culture  nowhere  equalled  in  Europe.  Great  capital  is  required 
to  make  the  land  profitable,  and  large  estates  are  constantly  sold 
for  the  want  of  it.  What  is  the  result  of  the  French  system  of 
dividing  the  land  ?  The  peasants  who  own  a  few  acres  are 
obliged  to  mortgage  them  in  order  to  work  them,  and  inquiry 
would  show  that  two-thirds  or  more  of  the  land  were  really 
owned  by  capitalists.  Money  is  just  as  necessary  in  the  tillage 


London  Revisited.  389 


of  the  land  as  in  any  other  business,  and  a  great  deal  is  indis 
pensable  to  reach  the  high  farming  that  is  not  seen  out  of 
England.  There  are  peers  and  commoners  who  hold  a  vast 
acreage,  but  I  doubt  if  they  get  two  per  cent  on  their  capital. 
A  French  peasant  may  get  a  bare  subsistence  out  of  his  acre  or 
two,  mortgaged  as  they  may  be,  for  he  is  content  with  one  or  two 
children,  and  lives  on  thin  soup.  An  English  labourer  is  incapable 
of  thrift  or  economy  of  any  kind.  If  you  divided  England  among 
them  to-morrow,  it  would  all  come  back  to  the  capitalist  at  the 
end  of  a  few  years.  Brains  and  money  monopolise  land  as  all 
other  property.  The  stupid  and  thriftless  have  never  been  capi 
talists  since  the  world  began.1* 

'  It  has  often  struck  me,'  I  continued,  '  that  the  influence  of 
your  aristocracy  must  be  beneficial.  They  are,  as  you  allege,  a 
hard-working,  well-mannered,  well-conducted  class,  and  their 
example  must  be  salutary.' 

*  You  are  right/  said  Mr.  Mansfield.     *  Their  good  manners 
permeate  through   all   classes,  who   strive   in  this  as  in  other 
respects  to  imitate  their  betters.     This  explains  the  quiet  civility 
and  good  tone  characteristic  of  the  English  people.    The  religious 
habits  of  the  aristocracy,  and  their  high  moral  character,  not 
withstanding  the  laxity  of  a  few,  tell  most  favourably  on  their 
countrymen  of  inferior  position.     In  no  country  in  the  world  is 
the  Sabbath  so  universally  respected  as  in  England,  and  nowhere 
else  is  a  higher  value  set  upon  morality  of  every  kind.     Another 
trait  which  contributes  to  the  popularity  of  our  aristocracy  is  the 
free  and  unaffected  manner  with  which  they  mingle  with  all  classes. 
In  the  country  their  love  of  agriculture  brings  them  into  familiar 
relationship  with  the  farmer  and  his  ally,  Hodge.     The  turf,  too, 
in  this  country  is  neutral  ground  for  high  and  low.     In  the  town 
you  find  the  aristocracy  figuring  at  the  head  of  the  thousand  and 
one  societies  that  abound  in  England,  where  their  oratory  is  as 

*  In  the  new  '  Domesday  Book'  it  is  shown  there  are  33,000,000  acres  of  arable 
land  in  England.     In  England  and  Wales  alone  there  are  972, 826  persons  described 
as  landowners — about  one  in  twenty  of  the  population.     Of  landowners  of  one  acre 
and  upwards  there  are  269, 547.     The  aggregate  holding  of  the  100  largest  owners 
is  3, 852,000  acres.    Of  these  100  there  are  47  holding  from  20,000  to  30,000  ;  27  with 
30,000  to  40,000;  8  with  40,000  to  50,000;  8  with  50,000  to  60,000;  3  with  60,000 
to  70,000;  2  with  70,000  to  80,000;  z  with  80,000  to  90,000;  3  with  over  100,000 
acres.   The  12  largest  owners,  as  regards  area,  in  England  and  Wales  are  the  Duke 
of  Northumberland,    Duke  of  Devonshire,   Duke  of  Cleveland,    Sir  W.  W.  Wynn, 
Duke  of  Bedford,  Earl  of  Carlisle,  Duke  of  Rutland,  Earl  of  Lonsdale,  Lord  Lecon- 
field,  Earl  of  Powis,  Earl  Brownlow,  and  Earl  of  Derby. 


390  London  Revisited. 

useful  as  their  presence  is  encouraging.  The  fact  is,  an  English 
nobleman  is  very  like,  in  his  main  characteristics,  the  rest  of  his 
countrymen.  He  is  practical,  with  strong  commercial  instincts, 
•He  improves  his  land  to  enhance  its  value.  He  looks  sharply 
after  his  investments.  He  never  bets  on  a  horse  without  ex 
amining  his  strong  points.  He  embarks  in  no  enterprise  without 
aiming  at  its  success.  Is  it  wonderful,  then,  the  aristocracy  are 
rich,  powerful,  and  respected  ?  Of  course,  a  coronet  is  some 
times  worn  by  a  fool  or  a  roue.  These  are  exceptions,  and 
where's  the  flock  without  a  black  sheep  or  two  ?' 

1  Do  you  think,'  I  inquired,  '  that  the  late  Reform  Bill,  which 
impaired  the  political  power  of  the  aristocracy,  will  diminish  their 
influence  ?' 

'  Just  the  contrary,  I  fancy,'  replied  Mr.  M.  c  They  no  longer 
control  the  legislation,  and  are  not  solely  responsible  for  any 
shortcomings  or  blunders  in  that  respect.  The  middle  class 
will  hereafter  be  under  equal  political  obligation,  and  less  pre 
judice  will  be  entertained  against  the  upper  class  in  the  minds- 
of  the  masses.  I  feel  no  apprehension  or  dislike  of  reform. 
Whatever  will  tend  to  relieve  or  improve  the  condition  of  the 
middle  or  lower  class  will  never  be  opposed  by  the  upper,  for 
they  are  sagacious  and  patriotic  enough  to  know  that  the  wel 
fare  of  all  classes  should  be  considered  and  promoted  to  make 
the  nation  contented  and  prosperous.  It  is  just  their  solicitude 
for  the  interests  of  all  that  makes  our  upper  class  so  respected 
and  strong.  In  no  country,  I  venture  to  say,  are  the  various 
classes  more  thoroughly  united,  which  is  the  secret  of  the  free 
dom  we  enjoy.  It  is  this  union  of  classes  that  has  stripped  the 
monarchy  of  an  undue  preponderance,  and  no  man's  liberty  in 
England  is  now  at  the  mercy  of  royal  caprice/ 

'  It  is  undeniable,'  I  admitted,  '  that  liberty  and  order  are 
most  happily  combined  in  your  country.  A  man  is  really  at 
liberty  to  do  what  he  pleases,  so  long  as  he  respects  the  rights  of 
others.  I  saw  this  amusingly  illustrated  recently  by  a  writer 
who  was  commenting  on  the  graduations  of  personal  liberty  in 
different  countries.  "  In  England,"  he  said,  "  you  are  allowed 
to  go  on  dangerous  ice ;  but  great  preparations  are  ready  to  get 
you  out  in  case  of  immersion.  In  France  you  are  not  allowed 
to  venture  on  thin  ice  at  all.  In  the  United  States  you  can't  be 
prevented  going  on  unsafe  ice,  and  whoever  chooses  may  help  you 
out."  This  is  all  true,  and  gauges  very  fairly  the  different  notions 


London  Revisited.  391 


of  liberty  that  exist  in  these  three  nations.  You  alluded  to  the 
monarchy  just  now.  It  strikes  me  it  is  reduced  to  well-nigh  a 
nullity  in  a  political  sense.' 

'  Not  quite,'  said  Mr.  M.,  '  though  it  has  been  gradually 
shorn  of  all  prerogatives  inconsistent  with  the  public  welfare. 
The  imperious  conduct  of  George  III.  would  not  be  tolerated 
now.  In  fact,  the  government  of  the  country  is  confided  to 
Parliament,  or  rather,  since  the  Reform  Bill,  to  the  House  of 
Commons.  The  sovereign  must  choose  a  Prime  Minister  accept 
able  to  the  majority  of  that  House,  and  as  long  as  he  retains  its 
confidence  he  is  the  bond-fide'K.mg.  He  cannot  be  displaced  except 
by  vote  of  that  majority.  If  it  is  adverse,  he  can  either  resign,  or 
appeal  to  the  country  by  a  new  election.  If  the  new  majority  is 
unfavourable,  a  new  Minister  must  be  selected  in  harmony  with 
the  sentiments  of  the  country.  Now,  by  your  Constitution,  you 
cannot  get  rid  of  your  Executive  under  four  years;  whereas 
with  us,  if  the  policy  of  ours  is  distasteful  to  the  popular  branch 
of  Parliament,  he  is  disposed  of  immediately.  Our  Administra 
tion  must  therefore  represent  the  interests  and  feelings  of  the 
hour.  Though  the  royal  power  is  politically  so  much  con 
trolled,  which  insures  its  stability,  yet  its  social  influence  is 
always  great.  The  King,  who  is  only  the  symbol  of  our  nation 
ality,  of  the  majesty  of  the  nation,  as  the  President  is  of  yours, 
albeit  divested  of "  the  divinity  that  doth  hedge  a  king,"  can 
make  himself  useful  in  a  thousand  ways.  His  words  and  his 
conduct  can  stimulate  or  check  the  opinions  of  the  country,  and 
give  a  true  direction  to  the  popular  mind.  Nowadays,  the  King, 
like  his  meanest  subject,  is  responsible  to  public  opinion  for  his 
high  trust,  which  he  is  not  likely  to  ignore.  The  King  is  ex 
pected  to  be  an  example  and  pattern  to  all.  The  days  of 
George  IV.  are  gone  for  ever.' 

I  rose  at  length,  with  my  mind  teeming  with  the  reflections 
awakened  by  this  edifying  conversation,  and,  bidding  my  clear 
headed  friend  good  night,  I  went  away  plunged  in  cogitation. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

AN  EXCURSION  TO  PARIS. 

THE  NEW  AMERICAN  MINISTER — A  SUCCESSION  OF  STARTLING  EVENTS— 
A  RESPONSIBLE  UNDERTAKING. 

TOWARDS  the  close  of  the  year,  I  decided  on  making  a  brief 
excursion  to  Paris  ;  and,  dining  one  day  with  the  Count  de  Sur- 
villiers,  I  mentioned  to  him  my  purpose,  adding  that  if  I  could 
be  of  any  use  to  him,  I  hoped  he  would  command  my  services. 
After  a  moment's  reflection  he  said  I  could  render  him  a  service 
which  he  would  appreciate  highly,  and  that  its  nature  would  be 
made  known  to  me  before  I  left  the  French  capital.  Somewhat 
curious  to  know  the  nature  of  the  commission  proposed,  I 
simply  bowed,  assuring  him  that  he  might  count  on  the  zeal 
ous  performance  of  any  task  confided  to  me. 

I  took  the  steamer  at  London  Bridge  to  Boulogne,  and  tra 
velled  thence  by  diligence.  This  I  found  the  easiest,  if  not  the 
most  expeditious,  route  to  my  destination.  What  a  contrast 
the  wide  uncouth-looking  plains  of  France  presented  to  the 
highly  cultivated  lands  and  trim  hedges  of  England  !  But  I  soon 
forgot  this  in  roving  through  the  gay  streets  of  Paris,  so  bright 
and  animated  after  the  foggy  dull  avenues  of  London.  One  of 
my  first  visits  was  to  our  new  Minister,  General  Cass,  whom  I  had 
met  at  dinner  at  Mr.  Stevenson's  on  his  way  to  his  new  post 
some  two  months  previously. 

General  Cass  was  a  New  England  boy,  and  in  1802  became 
a  member  of  the  New  Hampshire  bar.  In  1806  he  made  his 
way  to  Ohio,  bent  on  achieving  fame  and  fortune  in  the  West. 
He  soon  became  a  member  of  the  Legislature  ;  and  when  the  war 
with  England  broke  out  in  1812,  he  took  command  of  a  regi 
ment  of  volunteers,  and  made  the  campaign  in  Canada  under 
General  Hall.  At  the  close  of  the  war  he  was  appointed 
Governor  of  the  territory  of  Michigan,  whither,  in  1819,  he  re 
moved  his  family,  with  a  view  to  a  permanent  residence.  In 
1831  he  was  made  Secretary  of  War  in  the  second  Cabinet  of 
General  Jackson,  and  in  1836  was  named  as  Minister  to  France. 


An  Excursion  to  Paris.  393 

Throughout  his  public  career,  both  as  soldier  and  civilian,  he 
invariably  displayed  abilities  of  a  high  order,  and  established 
a  reputation  for  integrity  that  gave  him  a  strong  hold  on  the 
respect  of  his  countrymen.  His  judicious  investments  in  Detroit 
had  yielded  him  a  large  fortune. 

I  found  him  installed  in  the  former  mansion  of  the  celebrated 
banker  Lafitte,  and  a  splendid  residence  it  was.  He  was  a 
genial  man  in  manner,  and  his  countenance,  though  pleasant  and 
bright,  displayed  abundant  traces  of  shrewdness  and  keen  calcu 
lation.  He  was  always  circumspect  and  prudent,  even  to  the 
extent  of  perplexity  in  doubtful  cases.  The  General  was  not 
a  copious  talker,  but  far  from  reserved  either  in  demeanour  or 
conversation.  I  dined  with  him  the  following  day,  and  was 
presented  to  his  family.  Mrs.  Cass  was  a  quiet  unpretending 
woman,  and  her  three  daughters  resembled  her  in  tone,  and  were 
very  prepossessing  in  appearance  :  one  of  them  was  strikingly 
handsome. 

I  found  Paris  just  as  I  had  left  it  some  six  months  previously, 
palpitating  with  emotions,  and  throbbing  with  sensations  of  every 
variety,  the  very  antithesis  of  sober,  placid,  imperturbable  London. 
Political  passions  were  running  high  ;  but  the  new  Minister, 
Count  Mole,  was  doing  his  best  to  allay  them.  Those  implacable 
rivals,  Thiers  and  Guizot,  were  for  the  moment  out  of  power. 
The  King  had  managed  to  lay  them  aside,  and  had  intrusted 
the  Government  to  a  statesman  of  ability  and  high  character. 
With  a  view  to  upset  him,  Thiers  and  Guizot  had  smothered  their 
enmities,  joined  hands,  and  were  moving  heaven  and  earth  to 
effect  a  Ministerial  crisis. 

Only  two  months  before,  a  daring  insurrection  was  attempted 
in  Strasburg  by  Prince  Louis  Napoleon,  the  heir  of  the  great 
Emperor.  Most  of  the  garrison  took  part  in  it ;  and  for  a 
moment  its  chances  were  promising.  It  was  quelled  with  diffi 
culty,  and  the  Prince  was  made  a  prisoner  and  banished  from 
France. 

Whilst  Paris  was  gesticulating  over  this  stirring  event  the 
death  was  announced  of  the  exiled  King,  Charles  X.,  which 
occurred  in  Austria ;  and  his  youthful  grandson,  the  Count  de 
Chambord,  now  became  a  new  candidate  for  the  disputed  crown 
of  France. 

As  the  people  were  still  ruminating  over  the  demise  of  the 
last  brother  of  Louis  XVI.  and  the  prospects  of  the  young  Pre- 


394  An  Excursion  to  Paris. 

tender,  the  town  was  startled  by  the  news  of  another  attempt  on 
the  life  of  the  King,  on  his  way  to  open  the  Chambers  for  their 
annual  session. 

On  the  top  of  this  came  the  mortifying  intelligence  from 
Algiers  of  the  defeat  of  the  French  troops  by  the  Arab  chieftain, 
Abd  el  Kader  ;  and  this  threw  the  streets  and  cafe's  of  Paris  into 
great  fermentation.  In  short,  the  troubled  stream  of  Parisian  life 
never  ran  smooth  for  a  moment  ;  it  was  always  covered  with 
ripples,  bubbles,  and  swift  currents,  with  now  and  then  a  storm, 
often  portending  a  hurricane.  Every  day  had  its  occurrence,  its 
lively  incident,  its  moving  event.  All  this,  however,  never  checked 
for  a  minute  the  French  love  of  gaiety,  and,  certes,  there  was  no 
lack  of  amusement  for  all  tastes.  Theatres,  balls,  and  dinners 
kept  the  votaries  of  pleasure  ever  on  the  alert,  and  the  winter  of 
1837  opened  brilliantly. 

The  few  weeks  I  had  allotted  to  Paris  dissipation  were  rapidly 
absorbed  in  a  round  of  festive  engagements,  and  I  was  beginning 
to  think  of  my  approaching  departure,  when  one  day  a  tall 
dignified-looking  man  presented  himself  at  my  residence,  and 
announced  that  he  was  M.  Presle,  a  confidant  of  the  Count  de 
Survilliers,  at  whose  bidding  he  had  come  to  put  in  my  hands  a 
number  of  valuable  cases  which  had  been  in  his  keeping  for  some 
years,  and  which  now  the  Count  desired  should  be  sent  over  to 
London.  I  replied  that  I  would  most  cheerfully  take  charge  of 
them,  and  requested  that  they  should  be  brought  to  my  apart 
ment  immediately,  as  I  was  leaving  Paris  in  a  day  or  two.  He 
said  he  would  call  with  them  the  next  day,  which  he  did  ;  and 
they  consisted  of  six  boxes  of  various  sizes,  all  stamped  with  an 
imperial  crown  and  the  cipher  N.  I  asked,  with  some  surprise, 
the  nature  of  their  contents  ;  and  he  stated  that  they  were  the 
personal  effects  of  the  Emperor  Napoleon,  and  had  been  brought 
to  France  after  his  death  from  St.  Helena,  and  deposited  with 
him.  He  also  added  that  lists  had  been  prepared  of  all  the 
articles,  many  of  them  being  of  great  value  ;  and  after  they  .had 
been  verified  by  my  inspection,  '  would  I  be  good  enough  to  sign 
them  ;  and  then  his  responsibility  was  at  an  end.'  I  was  not  a 
little  troubled  at  the  important  nature  of  the  duty  I  had  under 
taken,  and  almost  trembled  at  the  chance  of  any  mishap  befalling 
these  interesting  relics  whilst  under  my  care.  I  spoke  of  my 
anxiety  to  M.  Presle  ;  but  he  comforted  me  with  the  assurance 
that  I  had  nothing  to  apprehend,  with  the  reasonable  heed  I 


An  Excursion  to  Pans.  395 


would  doubtless  exercise.  The  boxes  were  opened  one  after  the 
other  ;  and  as  the  articles  were  taken  out  and  compared  with  the 
list,  I  could  not  be  otherwise  than  deeply  moved.  Like  thousands 
of  others  of  all  lands,  my  enthusiasm  for  Napoleon  was  un 
bounded  ;  and  as  my  eyes  fell  successively  on  objects  so  closely 
identified  with  his  person,  so  intimately  associated  with  his  me 
mory,  I  was  profoundly  affected  almost  to  tears. 

First,  there  was  all  the  wearing  apparel  he  had  used  at  St. 
Helena :  his  shirts,  cravats,  and  handkerchiefs  ;  his  coats  and 
breeches  ;  the  three-cornered  hat  and  gray  overcoat  I  had  so 
often  seen  in  portraits  ;  and  even  his  red-morocco  slippers,  con 
siderably  worn.  Then  there  were  his  uniforms,  sashes,  and 
swords — one  had  belonged  to  Frederick  the  Great ;  his  alarm- 
clock,  that  he  always  carried  in  his  campaigns.  Then  the  books 
he  had  last  read.  Finally,  a  great  variety  of  jewelry  of  extreme 
value :  his  watches,  snuff-boxes  presented  by  the  different  sove 
reigns  of  Europe,  stuffed  with  diamonds  ;  and  the  very  identical 
collar  of  the  Legion  of  Honour,  in  golcf  and  precious  stones,  that 
lie  wore  over  his  imperial  robes  on  the  day  of  his  coronation  at 
Notre  Dame. 

I  went  through  the  cases,  comparing  every  article  with  the 
numerous  lists,  which  I  signed  ;  and  thus  became  answerable  for 
the  safe  delivery  of  all  this  property,  of  great  worth  in  itself,  but 
a  thousand  times  more  precious  from  its  near  relation  to  the 
greatest  man  of  modern  times.  At  the  close  M.  Presle  bade  me 
adieu,  with  a  ban  voyage,  and  the  hope  that  no  misadventure 
would  occur. 

Every  hour  I  seemed  to  grow  more  nervous  over  the  safety  of 
the  priceless  property  committed  to  my  charge  ;  and  I  determined 
to  hurry  back  to  London  without  delay.  I  left  next  evening  for 
Boulogne  ;  and,  for  greater  security,  I  carried  most  of  the  jewelry 
about  my  person.  The  grand  collar  of  the  Legion  of  Honour  I 
wore  about  my  neck  under  my  waistcoat.  As  ill-luck  would  have 
it,  a  tremendous  storm  was  raging  in  the  Channel,  and  the 
steamer  was  detained  for  two  days  till  it  subsided.  I  had  all  the 
cases  brought  up  into  my  bedroom  at  Boulogne,  and  was  un 
easy  at  leaving  them  for  a  moment.  The  attention  of  the  waiters 
about  the  hotel  had  been  caught  by  the  crown  and  cipher  on 
the  boxes,  and,  in  their  prying  familiar  way,  endeavoured  to 
extract  from  me  some  solution  of  the  enigma.  The  French  at 
this  time,  especially  the  lower  classes,  were  so  rabidly  infected 


396  An  Excursion  to  Paris. 

with  Bonapartism,  that  if  they  could  have  got  a  clue  to  the  real 
contents  of  my  packages,  they  would  not  have  hesitated  long 
over  a  burglarious  attack.  I  managed  to  elude  their  curiosity, 
without  ceasing,  however,  to  keep  careful  watch  and  ward.  More 
than  once  in  the  night  I  got  up  to  count  over  the  cases,  to  see 
they  were  all  right.  I  heartily  rejoiced  when,  at  last,  I  got  away 
from  France  with  impunity ;  and  my  solicitude  gradually  dimin 
ished  as  I  approached  London.  My  passport  attested  that  I  was 
a  member  of  a  foreign  Legation  ;  and  consequently  all  my 
effects  were  passed  at  the  Custom-house  on  our  arrival  without 
examination — no  small  source  of  satisfaction. 

I  drove  at  once  to  the  house  of  the  ex-King  Joseph,  and  de 
livered  to  his  secretaries  the  various  coffers  and  their  treasures,  say 
ing  I  would  come  the  following  morning  to  go  over  the  lists  and 
verify  the  contents.  I  called  the  next  day  at  noon,  and  was  most 
cordially  received  by  the  Count  He  remained  in  the  room  whilst 
the  lists  were  passed  in  review,  and  he  seemed  greatly  agitated  at 
the  sight  of  these  touching  reminiscences  of  his  beloved  brother. 
More  than  once  he  retired  for  a  short  interval  with  his  hand 
kerchief  to  his  eyes.  At  the  close  he  thanked  me  with  empresse- 
ment  for  the  service  I  had  rendered  him.  Not  very  long  after 
this  I  had  a  visit  one  morning  from  M.  Thibaud,  who  brought 
me  a  note  from  the  Count,  which  afforded  me  not  a  little  grati 
fication.  The  following  is  a  literal  translation  of  its  contents : 

London,  March  22,  1837. 

Sir, — You  very  kindly  gave  yourself  the  trouble  to  take 
charge  at  Paris  of  various  articles  which  belonged  to  the  Em 
peror  my  brother,  and  which  you  delivered  to  me  here  with  an 
extreme  punctuality.  You  did  not  fear  even  to  carry  some  of 
them  about  your  person  for  the  sake  of  greater  security. 

I  perceive  also,  by  your  language,  that  you  bear  to  the 
memory  of  Napoleon  that  just  respect  which  they  entertain  who 
knew  him  personally,  and  that  posterity  will  not  fail  to  award 
him.  I  think,  then,  I  shall  give  you  pleasure,  and  testify,  at  the 
same  time,  my  gratitude  and  attachment,  in  begging  you  ta 
accept  this  silver  cup,  which  I  have  taken  from  a  campaign 
service  of  Napoleon,  that  was  for  a  long  time  in  use,  and  which 
I  owe  to  his  friendship. — V'our  very  devoted  and  affectionate 
JOSEPH  N.  BONAPARTE,  Count  de  Survilliers. 

Henry  Wikoff,  Esq. 

Attach^  to  the  U.S.  Legation  at  London. 


An  Excursion  to  Paris.  397 

This  flattering  missive  was  accompanied  by  the  gift  alluded 
to,  which  M.  Thibaud  handed  to  me  enclosed  in  a  morocco 
case  lined  with  satin.  The  goblet  was  stamped  with  the 
imperial  arms.  I  wrote  the  same  day  to  his  ex-Majesty  a 
grateful  acknowledgment  of  the  rare  present  he  had  bestowed 
on  me,  assuring  him  that  I  would  treasure  it  with  almost  reli 
gious  care, 


CHAPTER  XL. 

LONDON  REVISITED. 

THE  BELGIAN  AMBASSADOR— ADVENT  OF  «JIM  CROW'—  ANDREW  JACKSON  ALLEN— 
HOLLAND  HOUSE — A  BALL  AT  COURT — A  WEDDING. 

ONE  morning,  soon  after  my  return  to  London,  I  received  the 

following  note  : 

Dear  Mr.  W., — I  liave  just  heard,  though  I  cannot  believe  it, 
that  you  have  been  in  town  some  days,  for  I  am  sure  you  would 
not  forget  your  old  friends  at  30  Portland-place.  If  you  have  no 
engagement  this  evening,  we  shall  be  happy  to  see  you,  having 
a  small  party. — Yours  sincerely^ 

LUCRETIA  BATES. 

Thursday. 

Of  course  I  did  not  fail  to  present  myself  at  Mrs.  Bates's 
hospitable  house,  make  my  apologies  for  apparent  neglect,  and 
receive  absolution.  On  this  occasion  I  made  the  acquaintance 
of  M.  Van  de  Weyer,  the  Envoy  from  Belgium  to  the  English 
Court.  There  was  something  very  preposessing  in  his  manner 
and  appearance.  His  dark  eye  was  singularly  brilliant.  He 
addressed  me  with  a  winning  smile  and  refined  courtesy  ;  made 
sensible  remarks  without  actually  entering  into  conversation  ; 
but  left  the  impression  of  a  superior  man.  He  was  a  product  of 
the  Revolution  in  Belgium.  Without  position  or  fortune,  he 
icsolved  to  achieve  both.  He  began  at  the  bar,  and  then  threw 
himself  into  journalism,  where  he  energetically  advocated  the 
separation  of  Belgium  from  Holland.  When  the  struggle 
against  the  Dutch  began  in  1830,  he  became  the  leading  mem 
ber  of  the  Belgian  Junto,  and  was  sent  to  London  to  solicit  the 
aid  of  the  English  Government.  Lord  Palmerston,  then  Minister 
for  Foreign  Affairs,  determined  to  recognise  the  independence 
of  Belgium,  and  induced  Prince  Leopold  of  Saxe-Coburg,  son- 
in-law  of  George  IV.,  to  accept  the  Belgian  crown,  which  he  did 
in  July  1831.  All  this  was  the  handiwork  of  M.  Van  de  Weyer, 


London  Revisited.  399 


and  he  continued  for  some  time  as  the  chief  Minister  of  Leopold, 
to  consolidate  the  budding  institutions  of  his  native  land.  He 
was  afterwards  sent,  at  his  own  desire,  as  Ambassador  to  Lon 
don,  where  he  enjoyed,  not  only  the  favour  of  the  Court  and  the 
Cabinet,  but  wide  popularity  in  society.  Besides  his  political 
capacity  and  diplomatic  adroitness,  he  was  known  as  a  brilliant 
amateur  in  scientific  pursuits.  I  met  him  often  at  the  pleasant 
dinner-table  of  Mr.  Bates,  and  was  not  long  in  perceiving,  nor 
in  the  least  surprised,  that  he  had  fallen  a  victim  to  the  beauty 
and  infinite  charms  of  the  fair  Elizabeth,  sole  heiress  of  the 
house.  Such  a  match  would  be  mutually  advantageous  ;  for 
while  it  would  raise  the  daughter  of  a  '  Boston  boy'  to  the  Court 
circles  of  England,  it  would  bring  a  splendid  independence  to 
the  ambitious  and  successful  man  who  built  the  pedestal  on 
which  he  stood. 

A  grotesque  novelty,  of  American  origin,  presented  itself 
that  winter  at  one  of  the  London  theatres,  which  at  first  was 
considered  rather  vulgar,  but  at  last  became  quite  the  rage.  An 
American,  by  the  name  of  Rice,  was  advertised  to  appear  in  a 
negro  role — a  thing  then  quite  unknown  in  London.  When  he 
came  forward  the  audience  was  astonished  and  amused  at  his 
extraordinary  aspect.  He  was,  of  course,  painted  black,  and  his 
attire  was  something  quite  indescribable.  He  was  accoutred  in 
the  picturesque  costume  of  the  old  negro  wood-sawyer,  seen 
about  our  towns  before  coal  was  introduced.  His  coat — like 
Joseph's — was  of  many  colours,  a  thing  of '  shreds  and  patches  ;' 
his  trousers  were  full  of  fissures,  and  his  hat  was  crownless. 
His  tall  thin  person  thus  bedizened,  and  his  limping  walk,  were 
so  new  and  fantastic,  that  people  first  contemplated  him  in 
silence,  and  then  began  to  giggle.  The  feature  of  the  night, 
however,  was  the  famous  ditty  of '  Jim  Crow  ;'  and  this  was  as 
complete  a  novelty  as  the  rest.  The  refrain  at  the  end  of  each 
verse, 

'  Turn  about,  wheel  about,  do  just  so  ; 
And  every  time  you  turn  about,  jump  Jim  Crow  !' 

was  accompanied  by  a  rotatory  movement,  awkward,  but  very 
comic,  and  in  the  true  negro  vein.  By  degrees  Jim  Crow  and 
his  antics  were  on  everybody's  tongue,  and  his  fortune  was  made 
when  some  member  of  the  House  of  Commons  described  a 
political  antagonist  as  the  'very  Jim  Crow  of  politics.'  Rice, 
who  was  a  quiet  well-conducted  man  in  private  life,  went  on 


400  London  Revisited. 


singing  for  months  at  the  Adelphi  Theatre,  and  every  week  he 
introduced  some  new  verses  referring  to  the  events  of  the  day, 
which  made  his  buffo  performance  still  more  racy  and  popular. 
Rice  was  well  paid,  and  likely  to  become  a  nabob.  The  advent 
of  the  American  negro  on  the  English  stage,  with  his  uncouth 
grimaces  and  monkey  pranks,  so  full  of  oddity  and  humour,  was 
quite  a  revolution,  and  sure  to  become  permanently  popular. 
It  was  a  phase  of  humanity  totally  unknown  to  this  country,  and 
to  Rice  will  belong  the  glory  of  having  introduced  the  planta 
tion  black  to  the  English  world. 

Forrest's  engagement  at  Drury  Lane  closed  at  the  beginning 
of  May.  For  the  previous  two  months  he  had  appeared  twice  a 
week  in  Macbeth  to  crowded  houses.  The  play  was  admirably 
cast,  and  in  the  Witches'  Chorus  all  the  leading  English  singers, 
male  and  female,  of  the  day  were  enrolled.  Forrest's  acting 
was  most  effective  ;  and  though  a  few  captious  ones  objected  to  , 
his  vehemence,  yet  the  audience  was  always  carried  away  by 
his  intensity.  His  chief  opponent  in  the  press  was  Forster,  the 
Thersites  of  the  Examiner.  His  devotion  to  Macready  rendered 
him  malicious  and  unfair  to  his  American  rival.  All  the  lead 
ing  critics,  however,  extolled  Forrest  with  great  warmth;  and 
the  most  accomplished  of  them  all — Oxenford,  of  the  Times — 
pronounced  his  acting  in  many  of  his  roles  incomparable. 

Forrest  had  selected  the  middle  of  June  for  his  wedding,  and 
preparations  were  already  making  for  the  joyous  event.  After 
a  short  bridal  tour  on  the  Continent,  he  had  decided  to  return 
home,  and  renew  his  professional  career. 

Things  were  in  this  pleasant  shape  when  one  day  he  rushed 
into  my  room,  his  cheek  burning,  his  eyes  sparkling  with  anger, 
and,  pacing  up  and  down  in  great  agitation,  declared  in  a  pas 
sionate  voice  he  intended  to  renounce  his  marriage.  Surprised 
and  shocked  at  this  abrupt  announcement,  I  inquired  the  cause. 

'  Why,  would  you  believe,  they  want  me  to  settle  what  they 
call  a  jointure  on  my  intended  wife !' 

*  Whom  do  you  mean  by  they  ?'  I  inquired. 

'  Her  father  and  mother,'  he  replied,  full  of  indignation. 

'  You  seem  to  forget,'  I  continued,  'or  perhaps  are  not  aware, 
that  in  this  country  it  is  an  invariable  usage  to  make  what  is 
called  a  marriage  settlement  previous  to  the  nuptials,  and — ' 

*  I  don't  care/  interrupted  my  irate  friend,  '  whether  it  is  the 
usage  or  not ;  I  will  never  do  it,  that's  flat.     Do  they  suppose  I 


London  Revisited.  401 


will  not  provide  sufficiently  for  my  wife,  according  to  my  means  ? 
It  is  an  insult  and  an  outrage.' 

*  That  is  a  wholly  mistaken  view/  I  persisted.  '  It  is  a  matter 
of  custom  here,  and  founded  on  prudence.  The  parents  would 
be  censured  by  their  friends  if  they  allowed  their  daughter  to 
marry,  especially  .a  foreigner,  without  the  usual  provision  against 
unforeseen  contingencies.' 

1  If  it  is  for  my  money,'  he  ranted, '  they  propose  to  give  me 
their  daughter,  they  may  keep  her.  What  right  have  they  to 
doubt  my  affection  ?  It  is  disgusting  to  demand  a  pecuniary 
guarantee  for  my  loyalty.' 

Finding  argument  wasted  upon  him,  and  fearing  lest  in  his 
excited  mood  he  would  dash  out  of  London  and  sail  for  home, 
I  determined  to  change  my  tactics.  I  knew  he  was  deeply 
attached  to  the  fascinating  Kate,  and  would  be  loth  to  lose  her. 
So  I  said,  *  Will  you  put  the  matter  in  my  hands  ?  If  I  cannot 
stave  off  the  jointure,  why,  then  take  your  own  course.' 

1  If  you  can  arrange  the  matter  according  to  my  view,'  he 
replied,  '  I  shall  be  pleased,  you  may  be  sure.  It  is  not  Kate's 
fault  ;  but  I  never  will  subscribe  to  any  such  degrading  proposi 
tion.' 

I  drove  up  at  once  to  Alfred-place,  and  had  an  interview 
with  Mrs.  Sinclair,  a  very  worthy  woman.  She  told  me  how 
astonished  and  distressed  she  was  at  Forrest's  wayward  conduct. 
She  considered  it  was  her  duty  to  ask  for  a  compliance  with 
the  usual  English  custom  of  a  settlement,  however  modest,  and 
she  could  not  comprehend,  she  reiterated,  Forrest's  motive  in 
refusing  it  in  so  impetuous  a  manner.  I  explained  that  jointures 
were  wholly  unknown  in  the  United  States,  where  marriage  was 
never  mixed  up  with  money  negotiations  ;  and  that,  in  Forrest's 
eyes,  so  strange  a  proposition  seemed  to  imply  a  suspicion  of  the 
sincerity  of  his  attachment.  Fortunately,  whilst  we  were  talk 
ing,  the  lovely  fiancee  came  into  the  room,  her  eyes  red  and  her 
face  ashy  pale,  showing  what  anguish  this  painful  difficulty  had 
cost  her.  She  earnestly  besought  her  mother  to  listen  to  my 
suggestion  to  waive  any  further  discussion  of  this  '  hateful  settle 
ment,  and  to  put  her  trust  in  Edwin's  honour  and  affection.'  My 
earnest  representations,  and  her  daughter's  touching  appeals,  at 
last  overcame  Mrs.  Sinclair's  sense  of  responsibility  and  her 
maternal  solicitude.  She  agreed  to  renounce  what  she  deemed 
not  only  customary  but  proper,  and  earnestly  prayed  she  might 

DD 


402  London  Revisited. 


never  have  occasion  to  regret  it.  I  hurried  off,  at  the  pressing 
entreaty  of  his  betrothed,  to  Forrest's  lodgings,  who  was  really 
overjoyed  at  the  result.  He  was  moved  almost  to  tears  when 
I  told  him  that  my  success  was  more  due  to  the  pathetic 
remonstrances  of  his  Kate  than  to  my  own  efforts. 

Attached  to  Forrest's  suite  in  London  was  a  great  oddity, 
by  name  of  Andrew  Jackson  Allen.  He  officiated  nightly  as 
the  great  actor's  principal  auxiliary  ;  but  he  more  especially 
prided  himself  on  his  functions  of  chief  costumer.  He  designed, 
and  in  part  executed,  the  splendid  dresses  which  Forrest  wore  in 
his  royal  rdles.  He  was  a  somewhat  portly  man,  of  about  fifty, 
with  an  honest  good  face,  slow  and  dignified  in  manner,  and 
not  without  a  due  consciousness  of  his  importance.  Allen  had 
a  sort  of  idolatry  for  the  tragedian,  and  followed  him  out  of  pure 
devotion.  He  might  have  got  a  better  livelihood  as  a  theatrical 
costumer.  He  had  one  other  worship,  whose  name  he  bore, 
namely,  the  great  soldier- President,  Andrew  Jackson.  He  spent 
the  most  of  his  time,  when  off  duty,  in  expatiating  on  the  respec 
tive  merits  of  his  two  fetiches.  He  was  an  impressive  talker, 
and  an  earnest  believer  in  his  own  opinions.  There  was,  in  his 
conviction,  but  one  great  actor  on  any  stage,  and  he  would 
demonstrate  by  the  hour  that  Forrest  was  the  prodigy  In  ques 
tion.  There  was,  to  his  mind,  but  one  great  man  in  the  world, 
and  that  was  Andrew  Jackson,  whose  renown  it  was  his  delight 
to  dilate  on.  He  was  quite  deaf ;  and  it  was  amusing,  when 
Forrest  set  him  talking,  to  hear  the  actor  declare  jocosely,  in 
an  under-tone,  the  contrary  to  all  he  said,  whilst  poor  Allen  sup 
posed  it  was  a  laudatory  indorsement.  More  than  once  during 
the  winter  Forrest  and  I  were  regaled  at  breakfast  at  Allen's 
lodgings,  where  he  had  rigged  up  a  griddle,  and  converted  some 
prime  buckwheat  he  had  imported  into  delicious  cakes.  He 
was  as  proud  of  this  feat  as  if  he  had  conceived  some  original 
design  for  a  new  dress.  As  long  as  he  could  make  '  the  boy,'  as 
he  styled  Forrest  behind  his  back,  happy  he  was  ready  to  under 
take  anything  short  of  abjuring  General  Jackson. 

One  day  I  was  surprised  to  receive  a  visit  from  the  eccentric 
Allen,  and  I  supposed  he  had  brought  me  a  message  from 
Forrest.  He  said  no  to  my  inquiry,  and  essayed  to  talk,  but 
seemed  rather  embarrassed.  There  was  evidently  something  on 
his  mind,  and  at  last  I  was  obliged  to  ask  why  he  had  called. 
Gathering  himself  up  for  the  effort,  he  said  : 


London  Revisited.  403 


'  Why,  I  have  made  a  beautiful  article,  a  portfolio,  of  my 
finest  gilt  leather,  and  embossed  with  great  elegance.  There  is 
nothing  like  it  in  London.' 

'Ah!'  I  remarked,  'a  present  to  the  illustrious  tragedian 
doubtless.' 

1  No/  he  answered. 

4  Well,'  I  queried,  '  there  can  only  be  one  other  man  you 
would  deem  worthy  such  a  gift — General  Jackson  ?' 

'  It  is,'  said  he,  in  a  low  voice,  '  for  a  woman.' 

'  What !'  I  exclaimed,  in  surprise,  for  the  costumer  was  a  con 
firmed  anchorite,  '  can  it  be  that  an  Englishwoman  has  over 
come  you  ?  I  thought  you  too  good  an  American  for  that.' 

He  winced  a  little. 

1  Well/  he  said,  after  a  pause,  '  I  intend  it  as  a  present  to  the 
Princess  Victoria  from  an  American  citizen.' 

At  first  I  thought  it  was  a  joke,  but  that  was  foreign  to  his 
character.  He  rarely  smiled,  much  less  jested.  Seeing  my  in 
credulous  look,  he  took  from  under  his  cloak  a  parcel  he  care 
fully  untied,  and  laid  the  object  before  me.  It  was  certainly 
quite  a  chef-d'oeuvre  in  its  way.  I  expressed  my  admiration, 
and  then  asked  him  how  he  expected  it  would  ever  reach  the 
Princess. 

'  That  is  just  what  I  have  come  here  for.  I  want  you,  as  a 
great  favour,  to  send  it  to  her,  with  a  letter  from  me  saying  it 
was  made  expressly  for  her.' 

The  poor  fellow  was  wholly  ignorant  that  the  etiquette  which 
surrounded  royalty  made  such  a  proposition  preposterous,  and  I 
tried  to  divert  him  from  his  fancy. 

'  What  would  Kentucky  say,  your  native  State/  I  asked, '  if 
it  should  leak  out  that  you,  a  veteran  democrat,  had  bent  the 
knee  to  royalty  ?' 

'  Kentucky  may  say  what  she  pleases/  asseverated  the  un 
daunted  Allen,  'if  the  Princess  will  accept  my  portfolio;  for 
then  I  can  advertise  the  fact,  and  sell  them  by  the  dozen.' 

'  O,  I  see  ;  it  is  not  an  act  ot  homage,  but  a  stroke  of  busi 
ness  you  are  aiming  at.  Not  a  bad  idea,  if  it  could  be  accom 
plished.' 

'  I  am  sure  you  will  try/  said  the  persistent  Andrew,  *  for 
"  the  boy's  "  sake,  who  would  be  pleased  at  my  turning  an  honest 
penny,  if  I  don't  neglect  him.' 

'  Very  well/  I  replied  reflectively  ;  '  I  will  see  what  can  be 


404  London  Revisited. 

done,  and  let  you  know  ;  but  there  is  little  probability  of  success, 
I  warn  you  in  advance.' 

*  If  the  Princess  will  only  look  at  it,'  declared  the  Jack-of-all- 
trades, '  she  will  never  refuse  it ;'  and  away  he  went,  full  of  his 
speculation. 

I  was  really  desirous  to  do  the  simple-minded  Andrew  a 
good  turn,  and  I  cudgelled  my  brains  for  some  time  in  search 
of  the  best  course  to  pursue.  Finally  I  decided  the  most  direct 
way  was  the  best.  So  I  wrote  to  Sir  John  Conroy,  whom  I 
slightly  knew,  the  chamberlain  of  the  Duchess  of  Kent,  the 
mother  of  the  Princess  Victoria,  and  frankly  stated  the  facts  of 
the  case.  I  made  no  secret  of  the  motive  of  the  enterprising 
Allen,  as  I  explained  that  if  the  Princess  deigned  to  accept  the 
portfolio,  the  manufacturer  expected  to  derive  considerable  ad 
vantage  from  the  sale  of  similar  articles.  I  added  that  he  was 
a  respectable  person,  though  in  a  humble  walk  of  life.  I  des 
patched  my  missive  with  the  certainty  of  a  polite  refusal.  I 
was  well  aware  of  the  irregularity  of  the  proceeding,  and  if  it 
had  been  made  on  behalf  of  an  ambitious  Briton  it  would  have 
been  scouted  at  once.  Coming  from  an  American,  I  felt  sure  it 
would  not  be  regarded  as  presumption. 

A  few  days  later  I  received  a  reply  from  Sir  John,  who  said 
he  was  authorised  by  the  Duchess  of  Kent  to  state  that  the 
Princess  Victoria  would  accept  the  portfolio  from  its  American 
maker  with  great  pleasure,  and  that  he  was  at  liberty  to  use  her 
name  if  he  thought  it  would  add  to  the- popularity  of  the  article 
in  question.  He  notified  me  he  would  be  happy  to  receive  Mr. 
Allen  with  the  portfolio,  if  I  would  bring  him  to  Kensington 
Palace  on  the  ensuing  Wednesday*,  at  two  P.M.  I  sent  at  once  for 
the  triumphant  speculator,  and  announced  the  unexpected  intel 
ligence.  He  was  greatly  exhilarated,  but  more  touched  by  the 
honour  than  elated  at  the  prospect  of  gain.  In  the  excitement 
of  the  moment  I  thought  he  had  forgotten  the  tragedian,  and 
General  Jackson  as  well. 

'  What  would  Kentucky  say  now/  he  exclaimed,  '  if  she  heard 
of  such  a  compliment  to  one  of  her  citizens  ?' 

'  The  least  she  could  do,'  I  suggested,  '  would  be  to  run  you 
for  Congress  at  the  next  election.' 

He  turned  round  abruptly,  as  if  I  had  really  meant  it,  and 
vowed  he  would  not  leave  '  the  boy'  to  be  elected  to  the  White 
House  ;  and  I  am  sure  he  would  not. 


London  Revisited.  405 


On  the  appointed  day,  and  at  the  proper  time,  down  came 
the  jubilant  Allen,  with  the  portfolio  enclosed  in  a  handsome 
morocco  case  lined  with  satin,  and  stamped  with  the  royal  arms. 
Furthermore,  he  was  attired  in  a  faultless  suit  of  clothes  made 
for  the  occasion.  His  shirt-collar  was  wonderfully  erect,  rather 
more  so  than  he  was  himself.  As  we  entered  the  palace  the 
usually  imperturbable  Andrew  showed  symptoms  that  indicated 
nervousness,  and  looked  as  if  he  would  have  preferred  his  old 
hunting-ground  '  behind  the  scenes'  to  the  royal  residence  where 
he  so  unexpectedly  found  himself.  We  traversed,  under  escort, 
several  stately  apartments  of  this  fine  old  palace,  where  William 
III.  lived  and  died,  and,  when  we  halted  at  last,  were  requested 
to  wait  a  few  minutes.  Shortly  after,  Sir  John  Conroy  appeared, 
and  received  us  most  affably.  I  presented  Mr.  Andrew  Jackson 
Allen,  and  said  he  was  deeply  honoured  by  the  condescension  of 
the  Princess.  The  portfolio  was  then  tendered  to  Sir  John,  who 
deposited  it  on  a  table,  and  stated  that  he  was  commanded  by 
her  Royal  Highness  the  Princess  Victoria  to  express  her  gratifi 
cation  at  the  gift,  and  added  one  or  two  complimentary  remarks. 
Andrew  made  a  desperate  effort  to  say  something  which  he  had 
doubtless  concocted,  but  it  stuck  in  his  throat.  It  was  a  clear 
case  of  vox  faucibus  hczsit.  With  a  brief  expression  of  my  ac 
knowledgments  on  behalf  of  the  dazed  Allen,  we  took  our  leave. 
Now  that  the  ordeal  was  over,  the  costumer  rapidly  recovered 
his  normal  self-possession,  and  had  the  air  of  a  man  who  felt  he 
had  not  been  born  in  vain.  As  we  drove  away  I  remarked, 
4  Your  fortune  is  made.  You  have  only  to  manufacture  port 
folios,  and  advertise  them  "  under  the  patronage  of  her  Royal 
Highness  the  Princess  Victoria,"  and  you'll  sell  bales  of  them.' 

4 1  will  never  make  another/  retorted  Andrew. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ?'  I  asked,  in  surprise. 

'  I  am  so  proud,'  he  said,  '  of  the  honour  conferred  on  me 
that  I  will  never  tarnish  it  by  a  speculation.  There  is  but  one 
portfolio  of  the  kind  in  England,  and  that  is  in  the  possession  of 
the  Princess  Victoria.  I  will  never  make  another.' 

This  was  really  a  fine  touch  of  feeling,  and  quite  character 
istic  of  the  erratic  Kentuckian.  I  applauded  his  lofty  resolu 
tion,  and  he  adhered  to  it  faithfully. 

I  paid  a  visit  one  day  to  Lord  and  Lady  Holland  at  Hol 
land  House.  This  famous  mansion  was  erected  in  the  first  years 
of  James  I/s  reign.  It  stands  in  the  suburbs  of  London,  and  in 


406  London  Revisited. 


the  centre  of  very  lovely  grounds,  extending  from  Kensington 
to  Bayswater,  about  a  mile  in  length.  It  was  occupied  at  one 
time  by  Charles  I.,  and  also  by  Cromwell.  At  that  period  it 
was  the  property  of  the  Earl  Holland,  the  gay  and  graceful 
courtier,  who  was  reputed  to  be  the  lover  of  Henrietta  Maria, 
the  French  wife  of  the  Martyr  King.  The  unfortunate  Earl  fell 
under  the  displeasure  of  the  grim  Protector,  and  was  beheaded 
in  1649.  His  property  was  confiscated,  and  afterwards  passed 
into  the  hands  of  Stephen  Fox,  whose  son  was  raised  to  the 
peerage  as  Lord  Holland  by  George  III.  A  younger  son  of  the 
latter  was  the  celebrated  orator,  Charles  James  Fox,  who  passed 
his  youth  in  this  splendid  residence.  Its  actual  owner  was  the 
third  lord  of  the  new  creation,  and  nephew  of  the  great  states 
man,  whose  eloquence  he  inherited.  He  was  regarded  as  the 
Cicero  of  the  House  of  Lords,  and  his  speeches,  in  finish  and 
elegance,  were  hardly  inferior  to  his  Roman  model. 

Holland  House  was  considered  the  head-quarters  of  the  Whig 
party,  and  every  week  during  the  season  its  distinguished  leaders 
and  a  crowd  of  brilliant  satellites  assembled  there  at  dinners 
which  were  remarkable  for  the  display  of  learning  and  wit,  and 
which  have  added  to  the  prestige  of  this  historical  house.  The 
presiding  genius  over  these  famous  reunions,  and  whose  tact  and 
energy  had  called  them  into  existence,  was  Lady  Holland,  a 
woman  of  signal  ability  and  force  of  character.  She  was  ad 
vanced  in  life  ;  but  her  face  could  not  have  been  without  charm 
in  her  earlier  years,  though  it  was  marked  by  a  severity  of  ex 
pression  which  indicated  the  despotic  disposition  attributed  to 
her.  In  this  respect  she  offered  a  striking  contrast  to  Lord 
Holland,  whose  genial  smile  and  kindly  manner  were  very 
engaging. 

Lady  Holland's  history  was  a  romantic  one.  She  was  the 
wife  of  a  rich  baronet,  Sir  Godfrey  Webster,  and  whilst  travelling 
in  Italy  some  years  previously  met  Lord  Holland.  An  intimacy 
ensued,  which  resulted  in  Lady  Webster  conceiving  a  violent 
attachment  for  the  rising  young  statesman.  The  end  of  it  was 
she  abandoned  her  husband,  when  their  marriage  was  dissolved 
by  Act  of  Parliament,  and  soon  after  she  espoused  the  new 
object  of  her  affections.  The  scandal  connected  with  this  event 
damaged  her  with  her  own  sex,  who  were  never  seen  at  Holland 
House ;  but  the  tastes  of  its  new  tenant  rendered  the  society 
of  men  far  preferable.  Some  thought  it  was  even  more  ambition 


London  Revisited.  407 


than  love  that  prompted  her  to  throw  aside  a  country  baronet 
to  figure  as  the  wife  of  an  eminent  statesman,  and  become  the 
tutelary  divinity  of  the  great  Whig  party. 

Certain  it  is,  under  her  adroit  management  Holland  House 
became  the  habitual  rendezvous  of  all  the  great  names  of  the 
Whig  world,  whether  political  or  literary.  It  is  said  the  passage 
of  the  Reform  Bill  was  more  fully  discussed  over  the  dinner- 
table  of  Lady  Holland  than  in  the  Cabinet  itself.  A  distinguished 
leader  on  the  adverse  side  used  to  say,  '  It  was  a  misfortune  the 
Tory  party  had  no  Holland  House  to  sustain  them.'  The  glories 
of  the  reign  of  Lady  Holland  have  been  consecrated  by  the 
genius  of  Macaulay,  one  of  the  peerless  galaxy  who  acknow 
ledged  the  power  of  her  magic  wand. 

A  ball  at  St.  James's  Palace  was  ordered  by  the  King  on  the 
24th  of  May,  to  celebrate  the  coming  of  age  of  the  Princess 
Victoria.  *  On  that  day  she  attained  her  legal  majority  of  eighteen. 
The  crown  would  devolve  on  her, and  it  was  strange  it  should  ever 
have  reached  her  through  so  many  adverse  chances.  George  IV. 
had  an  only  child,  the  Princess  Charlotte,  who  married  in  1816, 
and  died  the  following  year,  in  her  first  confinement,  with  a  still 
born  child.  Thus  two  heirs  were  swept  away.  The  next  was 
the  Duke  of  York,  second  son  of  George  III.,  who  died  in  1827, 
without  offspring.  The  Duke  of  Clarence,  who  stood  next,  mar 
ried  in  1818,  and  had  no  issue.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  Prin 
cess  Victoria,  only  child  of  the  Duke  of  Kent,  the  fourth  son  of 
George  III.,  who  died  in  1820,  would  succeed  her  uncle,  the  reign 
ing  King. 

Only  a  few  days  before  the  ball,  it  was  announced  the  King 
had  fallen  ill,  and  the  supposition  was  general  it  would  be  post 
poned  till  his  recovery.  The  Duchess  of  Kent  desired  it  should 
be,  but  the  King  insisted  on  its  taking  place  notwithstanding. 
Queen  Adelaide  was  in  attendance  on  the  King,  who  was  lying 
at  Windsor  Castle.  Consequently  the  Duchess  of  Kent  and  her 
daughter,  the  Princess  Victoria,  occupied  the  chairs  of  state  that 
would  otherwise  have  been  filled  by  the  King  and  Queen. 

The  ball  was  unusually  crowded,  and  a  certain  flutter  per 
vaded  the  whole  assembly.  No  one  could  suppress  the  thought, 
uppermost  in  all  minds,  that  it  would  be  strange  indeed  if 
William  IV.  departed  just  as  his  heir  had  reached  her  majority. 
The  Princess  was  the  cynosure  of  all  eyes,  as  she  sat  for  the  first 
time  on  the  throne  which  might  so  soon  be  hers.  Her  face  was 


4-8  London  Revisited. 


somewhat  flushed  by  the  novelty  of  her  position,  as  well  as  by 
the  rumours  of  the  King's  increasing  illness.  But  she  displayed 
a  self-possession  under  the  circumstances  quite  remarkable,  and 
was  the  theme  of  general  admiration. 

In  person  she  was  something  under  medium  height,  and  most 
symmetrically  formed.  Her  bust  was  strikingly  handsome,  and 
her  features  were  small  and  regular,  her  complexion  clear  and 
healthy.  Her  blue  eyes  were  full  of  intelligence,  and  the  ex 
pression  of  her  countenance  was  amiable,  but  not  without  firm 
ness.  She  danced  several  times,  and  all  were  impressed  by  her 
graceful  and  unaffected  manner.  -The  Duchess  of  Kent  was  a 
stately-looking  woman,  and  must  have  been  highly  attractive  in 
her  youth.  In  demeanour,  though  dignified,  she  was  gracious  and 
affable.  She  had  given  great  cars  to  the  education  and  training 
of  her  royal  daughter,  to  fit  her  for  the  high  destinies  that  some 
day  awaited  her. 

The  Duke  of  Wellington,  who  was  regarded  as  the  first  subject  of 
the  realm,  the  Prime  Minister,  Lord  Melbourne,  and  his  colleagues, 
Lord  Palmerston  and  Lord  John  Russell,  were  in  close  attend 
ance,  and  in  frequent  conversation  with  .the  Duchess  of  Kent 
and  the  lovely  Princess.  There  was  much  animation,  but  not 
the  usual  gaiety  that  enlivens  a  Court  ball.  All  were  preoccu 
pied  and  abstracted  by  the  thoughts  and  exciting  reports  con 
nected  with  his  Majesty's  illness.  I  had  the  honour  of  dancing 
a  quadrille  with  Lady  Fanny  Elliot,  the  charming  daughter  of 
the  Earl  of  Minto,  the  First  Lord  of  the  Admiralty.  Her  en 
gaging  manners  and  sweetness  of  disposition  were  even  more 
winning  than  her  admitted  beauty.*  The  ball  broke  up  rather 
early. 

A  week  later  the  King  rallied  a  little,  and  then  relapsed. 
Anxiety  increased  as  his  malady  grew  more  unmanageable  ;  and 
after  lingering  to  the  2Oth  of  June  he  died,  less  than  a  month 
from  the  festivity  just  mentioned. 

The  same  day  the  Privy  Council  assembled  at  Kensington 
Palace,  and  the  young  Princess  entered  the  hall,  leaning  on  the 
arm  of  her  uncle,  the  Duke  of  Sussex.  Taking  her  place  at  the 
head  of  the  Council,  the  Lord  President  administered  the  oath, 
*  to  govern  the  realm  according  to  law,  and  cause  justice  to  be 
executed  in  mercy.'  Whereupon  each  member  of  the  Council 

*  This  captivating  woman  married,  in  1841,  Lord  John  Russell,  one  of  the 
leading  statesmen  of  the  day. 


London  Revisited.  409 


in  turn  knelt  before  Victoria,  and  kissed  her  hand  as  Queen  of 
Great  Britain  and  Ireland.  Throughout  the  ceremony  her 
dignity  and  grace  impressed  all  present.  She  spoke  only  when 
the  ceremonial  required,  and  addressed  herself  chiefly  to  Lord 
Melbourne,  the  head  of  the  Cabinet.  Her  discretion  and  tact 
seemed  to  convince  all  she  would  be  fully  equal  to  her  high 
constitutional  duties. 

Out  of  doors  there  were  universal  signs  of  public  satisfaction 
at  the  advent  of  the  young  Queen.  The  immediate  descendants 
of  George  III.  belonged  to  an  epoch  fast  disappearing,  and,  with 
the  exception  of  the  Duke  of  Sussex,  none  of  them  were 
popular.  It  was  over  a  century  since  Queen  Anne  had  sat  on  the 
English  throne,  and  the  glories  of  her  reign  in  arms  and  litera 
ture  were  recalled  in  the  hope  they  might  be  equalled,  if  not 
surpassed,  under  the  sway  of  Victoria. 

I  was  present,  in  attendance  upon  the  American  Minister,  at 
the  first  levee  of  the  new  reign,  and  the  throng  was  immense. 
The  Queen  wore  the  Order  of  the  Garter,  and  her  royal  diadem 
sat  gracefully  on  her  well-shaped  head.  She  went  through  the 
trying  ordeal  with  extraordinary  composure,  and  all  were  struck 
by  the  absence  of  anything  like  timidity  or  agitation,  that  might 
have  been  expected  on  the  first  assumption  of  her  queenly  office. 

Her  political  views  were  known  to  be  in  entire  unison  with 
the  Ministry  bequeathed  to  her  by  the  late  King,  so  no  change 
in  that  respect  was  likely.  The  Queen  was  said  to  entertain  a 
strong  liking  for  the  Premier  ;  and  no  wonder,  for  Lord  Mel 
bourne  was  declared  to  be  one  of  the  most  fascinating  of  men. 
A  pleasing  physique,  graceful  manners,  lively  wit,  and  great 
acquirements,  he  was  a  model  at  once  of  a  high-bred  nobleman 
and  an  accomplished  Minister.  It  could  hardly  be  irksome  for 
the  girl-Queen  to  transact  official  business  with  so  finished  a 
courtier,  whilst  his  experience  and  political  tact  would  be  of  infi 
nite  service  in  initiating  her  into  the  mysteries  of  government. 
It  would  be  a  sad  day  when  party  exigencies  might  compel  her 
to  give  up  such  pleasant  guidance,  and  to  enter  into  new  relations 
with  politicians  less  prepossessing  in  exterior  and  less  conciliat 
ing  in  address.  No  woman,  even  though  she  wear  a  crown,  can 
be  insensible  to  the  personal  attractions  of  the  men  about  her  ; 
but  an  English  sovereign  nowadays  must  needs  accept  such 
political  association  as  Parliament  in  its  omnipotence  may  choose 
to  ordain.  Queen  Bess  was  more  fortunate  in  her  day;  for  if 


4io  London  Revisited. 


she  preferred  a  Cecil  or  a  Leicester,  she  could  retain  him  during 
her  august  pleasure. 

In  the  latter  part  of  June  the  marriage  of  Forrest  took  place, 
in  the  church  of  the  parish  he  was  living  in,  St.  Paul's,  Covent 
Garden,  which  was  built  in  1633,  and  is  said  to  contain  the 
remains  of  more  celebrities  than  any  church  in  London,  save 
Westminster  Abbey.  It  was  there  that  the  handsome  actor, 
William  O'Brien,  married  his  runaway  bride,  Lady  Susan 
Strangways,  eldest  daughter  of  the  Earl  of  Ilchester.  Only  a 
limited  number  of  the  tragedian's  friends  were  invited,  as  he 
desired  to  avoid  anything  like  a  sensational  display.  Among 
these  were  the  American  Minister  and  his  wife,  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Joshua  Bates,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Dunlop,  and  Miss  Gamble,  with 
some  others.  The  Rev.  John  Croly,  the  biographer  of  George 
IV.,  officiated.  I  had  the  honour  of  figuring  as  Forrest's  only 
groomsman,  or,  as  they  call  it  here,  his  *  best  man.'  I  do  not 
believe  there  ever  was  seen  a  handsomer  couple  who  took  each 
other  for  better  or  worse  than  the  twain  who  were  nuptially 
bound  together  that  day.  Forrest  was  just  thirty-one,  and  a 
model  of  manly  beauty  ;  his  bride  barely  twenty,  and  neither 
poet  nor  painter  ever  dreamed  of  anything  more  lovely  than 
she  appeared  on  her  bridal  day.  Everybody  gazed  on  them 
with  admiration,  and  declared  never  was  seen  a  more  beautiful 
pair. 

From  the  church  we  adjourned  to  the  house  of  the  bride's 
father  in  Alfred-place,  where  the  usual  wedding  breakfast  was 
served  with  great  luxury.  The  U.S.  Minister,  in  a  felicitous 
speech,  toasted  the  happy  couple,  and  Forrest  responded  in  the 
best  taste.  Dr.  Croly,  even  better  known  in  the  literary  world 
than  the  Church,  delivered  a  very  effective  speech.  At  last  the 
speeches  and  jokes  were  over,  and  the  wedding-cake  cut  and 
distributed.  Soon  after  three  P.M.  a  carriage-and-four  drove  up 
to  carry  off  the  newly-married  ones  on  their  bridal  tour.  The 
nuptial  habiliments  having  been  changed  for  travelling  costume, 
they  took  their  places,  and  departed  under  the  customary  shower 
of  rice  and  old  shoes.  They  looked  supremely  happy  as  they 
set  off  on  their  hymeneal  trip,  and  everybody  heartily  wished 
them  God-speed. 

After  a  honeymoon  stroll  of  a  couple  of  weeks  about  Eng 
land,  Forrest  meant  to  return  to  London  for  a  few  days,  when  I 
had  agreed  to.  accompany  him  and  his  bride  on  a  short  conti- 


London  Revisited.  411 


nental  tour.     About  the  middle  of  July  I  received  the  following 

letter : 

Stratford -upon- Avon,  14  July  1837. 

My  dear  Wikoff, — I  shall  be  in  town  on  Thursday  or  Friday 
next.  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  order  a  suite  of  rooms  to  be 
secured  for  me  at  the  hotel  we  spoke  of?  Let  them  be  retained 
on  Thursday,  though  I  may  not  arrive  till  the  following  day  ;  and 
please  drop  me  a  line  to  Alfred-place.  My  time  draws  on,  and 
I  should  like  to  leave  for  the  Continent  about  the  2Oth  instant. 
What  say  you — can  you  be  ready  ?  To-day  I  have  been  paying 
homage  to  the  memory  of  him  who  was  not  of  an  age,  but  for 
all  time.  Truly  this  is  a  most  interesting  spot : 

'Where  his  first  infant  lays  sweet  Shakespeare  sung, 
Where  his  last  accents  faltered  on  his  tongue.' 

Yours  ever,  E.  F. 

I  was  not  a  little  amused  that  in  his  absorbing  reveries  over 
Shakespeare's  birthplace  he  had  apparently  forgotten  all  about 
his  fair  bride,  whom  he  never  mentioned  in  his  letter,  not  even 
to  send  her  regards.  It  was  evident  that  neither  love  nor  the 
novelty  of  marriage  had  seduced  his  mind  from  his  ruling  pas 
sion.  The  stage  first,  and  everything  else  after. 


CHAPTER  XLI. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued). 

DISRAELI'S  '  MAIDEN  SPEECH' — GLADSTONE'S  TORYISM — PRINCE  ESTERHAZY'S. 
BALL LADY  POWERSCOURT. 

A  PARLIAMENTARY  friend  of  mine  suggested  that  if  I  cared  to 
witness  '  a  scene,'  I  had  better  go  down  to  the  House  of  Com 
mons  on  a  certain  evening  in  July  he  mentioned,  as  Mr.  Disraeli, 
who  had  just  entered  the  House,  intended  to  make  his  maiden 
speech.  I  resolved,  of  course,  to  be  there,  as  I  felt  no  little 
curiosity  to  witness  the  first  oratorical  essay  of  this  brilliant 
writer  of  romance. 

Benjamin  Disraeli,  born  in  1805,  was  the  son  of  Isaac  Dis 
raeli,  the  well-known  author  of  the  Curiosities  of  Literature.  His 
grandfather  was  an  Italian  merchant,  who  came  to  England 
about  1750.  Young  Benjamin  began  his  career  as  a  clerk  to  a 
London  solicitor,  where  he  led  an  idle  dreamy  life  for  some  three 
years.  His  employer  complained  that  '  he  did  no  work,  but  was 
always  scribbling  some  romantic  trash  or  the  like.'  When  he 
was  only  twenty  he  startled  the  literary  world  by  his  brilliant 
novel  of  Vivian  Grey.  The  buzz  of  admiration  had  scarcely- 
subsided,  when  in  the  following  year  he  produced  Henrietta 
Temple,  which  was  followed  up  rapidly  by  other  fictions  of 
equal  merit.  These  various  books  displayed  a  power  of  imagi 
nation,  an  analysis  of  character,  and  a  splendour  of  diction  of  a 
rare  order.  The  young  author  then  betook  himself  to  Eastern 
travel,  and  returned  to  England  in  the  height  of  the  Reform 
agitation  in  1831. 

He  then  resolved  to  embark  in  political  life,  and  thinking  he 
had  little  chance  of  favour  at  the  hands  of  the  Tory  party,  from 
his  want  of  fortune  and  family,  he  determined  to  join  the  ranks 
of  the  ultra-Liberals.  He  obtained  the  support  of  two  of  their 
prominent  leaders,  Hume  and  O'Connell,  and  under  their 
auspices  offered  himself  for  election  in  the  borough  of  Wycombe 
in  1832.  He  published  on  this  occasion  a  Radical  pamphlet, 
entitled  '  Who  is  he  ?'  which  was  the  somewhat  contemptuous 
phrase  used  by  Earl  Grey  with  reference  to  the  aspiring  novel- 


London  Revisited.  413 


writer.  He  declared  in  this  electioneering  pasquinade  that  '  to 
fortify  the  democratic  principle  it  would  be  necessary  to  obtain 
shorter  Sessions  of  Parliament  and  the  vote  by  ballot.'  He  was 
rejected  at  Wycombe.  Whether  it  was  the  mortification  of  de 
feat  or  that  overtures  had  been  made  to  him  by  the  Tory  party, 
but  all  of  a  sudden  he  abandoned  the  Radical  cohort,  and  went 
over  to  the  aristocratic  camp. 

In  1835  he  came  forward  as  the  Tory  candidate  at  Taunton,, 
and  in  the  ardour  of  his  conversion  vigorously  assailed  his  for 
mer  allies.  He  especially  singled  out  as  a  butt  for  his  sarcasm 
the  redoubtable  O'Connell,  who  replied  by  denouncing  him  as  '  a 
turncoat,  a  charlatan,  and  a  descendant  of  the  impenitent  thief 
who  died  on  the  cross.'  Disraeli  was  so  stung  by  the  scurrilous 
language  of  his  antagonist  that  he  sent  a  challenge  to  Morgan 
O'Connell,  son  of  the  peccant  Daniel,  who  had  made  a  vow 
against  duelling.  The  challenge  was  not  accepted,  but  a  great 
hubbub  was  the  result.  Disraeli  failed  at  Taunton  ;  but  though 
unable  to  get  a  seat  in  Parliament,  he  was  obtaining  great  noto 
riety  in  the  political  world,  which  he  was  shrewd  enough  ta 
appreciate.  In  1836  he  published  a  series  of  powerful  letters  in 
the  Times  newspaper,  signed  *  Runnymede,'  in  which  he  indulged 
in  the  bitterest  irony  at  the  expense  of  the  Whig  party.  In  July 
1837  he  was  at  last  elected  for  Maidstone,  and  immediately  took 
his  seat  in  the  House.  He  had  rendered  himself,  by  his  slashing 
philippics,  so  obnoxious  to  both  the  Whigs  and  the  Radicals,  that 
they  were  bent  on  seizing  the  first  occasion  to  express  their  spite. 
He  made  no  secret  of  his  intention  to  speak  on  a  particular  night ; 
and  the  House  was  crowded  to  excess,  in  expectation  of  an  ex 
plosion.  I  was  fortunate  enough  to  get  a  place  in  the  Diplomatic 
gallery. 

The  proceedings  were  dull  enough  at  the  outset.  Parliament 
ary  speaking,  both  in  the  Upper  and  Lower  House,  was  usu 
ally  tame  to  monotony.  The  conversational  tone  was  generally 
adopted,  and  anything  like  effective  oratory  was  considered  the 
atrical  and  in  bad  taste.  If  such  notions  had  prevailed  in  former 
times,  we  should  never  have  heard  of  the  splendid  bursts  of  elo 
quence  of  such  men  as  Chatham,  Fox,  and  Sheridan.  Mr. 
Disraeli  was  pointed  out  to  me,  and  he  looked  even  younger 
than  he  was.  His  head  was  adorned  with  a  luxurious  growth 
of  black  hair,  with  a  decided  tendency  to  curl.  His  dress  was 
rather  showy,  more  so  than  was  customary  here.  His  lace 
interested  me  not  a  little.  The  features  were  regular,  and  the 


414  London  Revisited. 

expression  was  striking.  Cynicism  and  force  were  the  marked 
characteristics.  He  was  clearly  a  man  bent  on  making  his  way 
over  all  obstacles  and  in  spite  of  all  difficulties.  His  demeanour 
was  singularly  calm  :  not  the  least  indication  of  nervousness, 
not  the  faintest  sign  of  anxiety.  He  was  about  to  make  his 
maiden  speech  in  the  House,  and  probably  anticipated  some 
opposition  ;  but  he  was  apparently  no  more  concerned  at  the 
ordeal  before  him  than  if  he  had  been  waiting  a  summons  to 
dinner. 

How  differently  men  are  constituted  !  S^>me  of  the  great 
est  intellects  that  have  ever  adorned  the  House  of  Commons 
have  utterly  succumbed  in  their  first  efforts  to  address  it. 
Sheridan  did  so,  though  he  declared  afterwards  '  it  was  in  him, 
and  would  yet  come  out.'  He  lived  to  make  his  wonderful 
•oration  on  the  trial  of  Warren  Hastings,  which  Pitt,  Burke,  and 
Fox  pronounced  a  feat  of  oratory  that  eclipsed  all  they  ever 
heard  or  read  of.  The  eloquent  Erskine  broke  down  in  his 
first  attempt ;  whilst  the  polished  Addison  rose  three  successive 
times,  and  said,  '  Mr.  Speaker,  I  conceive,'  and  sat  down  finally 
without  being  able  to  bring  forth  a  single  word  more.  Even 
Cicero  has  left  on  record  that  the  first  time  he  addressed  an 
.assembly  of  his  countrymen  his  knees  shook,  and  his  whole 
frame  trembled  with  nervous  emotion. 

To  the  disappointment  of  all,  on  the  night  in  question  Mn 
Disraeli  did  not  speak.  Either  the  spirit  did  not  move  him,  or 
discretion  whispered  he  had  better  await  a  more  favourable  mo 
ment.  Parliament  soon  after  adjourned,  but  reassembled  in 
December.  If  Mr.  Disraeli  fancied  the  animosity  of  his  adversaries 
would  cool  down  in  the  interval,  he  was  mistaken  ;  for  when  at 
last  he  got  up  to  deliver  his  '  maiden  speech,'  he  fared  no  better 
than  if  he  had  made  the  attempt  on  the  first  occasion.  Unfor 
tunately  I  had  left  London  before  the  predicted  '  scene'  took 
place ;  but  a  friend  of  mine,  who  was  present,  sent  me  the 
following  brief  description. 

'  Whatever  may  have  been/  he  wrote, '  the  secret  agitation  of 
Mr.  Disraeli  on  the  night  he  spoke,  it  is  certain,  when  he  got  up  to 
reply  to  the  great  Irish  athlete,  Daniel  O'Connell,  who  had  just 
sat  down,  he  looked  as  collected  and  pleasant  as  a  bridegroom 
on  his  nuptial  day.  There  was  a  moment  of  intense  silence, 
highly  flattering  to  the  youthful  politician.  He  began  in  an 
easy  flow  of  graceful  elocution,  and  his  voice  was  clear  and 
strong.  I  looked  forward  to  a  triumphant  display  of  his  powers 


London  Revisited.  415 

when  of  a  sudden,  as  if  it  had  been  concerted,  as  doubtless  it 
was,  a  loud  chorus  of  discordant  ejaculations  broke  forth  from 
the  Whig  and  Radical  members,  that  rose  in  volume  and  dis 
sonance  till  the  voice  of  the  orator  was  quite  drowned.  He 
seemed  in  no  wise  disconcerted,  but  persistently  began  again 
and  again.  At  last  he  appealed  to  the  refractory  members,  and 
said  that,  as  a  matter  of  fairness,  if  not  propriety,  they  ought  to 
allow  him  to  proceed,  at  least  till  he  gave  cause  for  interruption, 
and  that  nothing  would  induce  him  to  take  part  in  treating  any 
honourable  gentleman  in  the  manner  in  which  he  was  assailed. 
His  dulcet  remonstrances  were  entirely  thrown  away  ;  for  he 
no  sooner  resumed  his  speech  than  the  din  of  "  Oh,  oh  !"  groans, 
coughs,  with  frequent  outbreaks  of  obstreperous  laughter,  made 
him  utterly  inaudible.  He  saw,  at  last,  it  was  useless  to  struggle 
against  the  uproar,  which  was  only  increased  by  the  stentorian 
efforts  of  the  Tory  side  of  the  House  to  sustain  him  ;  so  gather 
ing  himself  up  to  his  full  height,  with  his  eyes  emitting  fierce 
flashes  of  indignation,  and  in  a  voice  of  proud  defiance,  he  ex 
claimed,  as  he  brandished  his  right  arm,  "  Though  I  sit  down 
now,  the  time  will  come  when  you  will  hear  me." 

1  Though  he  was  put  down  in  this  summary  fashion  by  the 
majority  of  the  House,  still  the  real  triumph  was  his  ;  for  public 
opinion  is  shocked  at  this  unseemly  conduct  of  the  Government 
party,  and  expressions  of  sympathy  are  uttered  loudly  by  all 
classes  on  behalf  of  the  outraged  Disraeli.  He  is  quite  sagacious 
enough  to  perceive  that  this  ill-judged  effort  to  suppress  him 
only  rebounded  to  his  advantage,  and  that  his  reputation  is 
really  increased  by  the  belligerent  hostility  of  his  political  anta 
gonists.  He  is  politic  enough  to  profit  by  the  blunder  com 
mitted,  and  for  the  rest  of  the  Session  it  is  likely  he  will  be  too 
discreet  to  provoke  a  new  conflict.' 

There  was  another  youthful  member  of  Parliament  on  the 
Tory  side,  who  might  possibly  turn  out  a  rival  of  the  bold  and 
resolute  Disraeli.  W.  E.  Gladstone,  a  younger  son  of  a  rich 
merchant  of  Liverpool,  entered  the  House  of  Commons  in  1832, 
the  same  year  that  he  left  the  University  of  Oxford,  only  twenty- 
three  years  of  age.  He  began  his  parliamentary  career  as  the 
champion  of  all  that  was  retrograde  in  the  political  and  religious 
system  of  England.  His  premature  talents  brought  to  mind  the 
wonderful  precocity  of  the  younger  Pitt,  who  was  a  member  of 
the  House  at  twenty-two,  and  Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer 
at  twenty-three.  The  young  member  for  Newark  had  made  no 


4i 6  London  Revisited. 


such  rapid  strides  as  this,  but  in  the  five  years  he  had  held  his 
seat  he  had  made  a  solid  impression  on  the  House.  He  dis 
played  great  dexterity  as  a  debater,  and  had  few  competitors  as 
a  graceful  rhetorician.  He  was  remarkable  for  his  scholarship, 
lucidity  of  exposition,  and  elegance  of  diction.  Though  always 
fluent  and  forcible,  he  never  offended  the  prejudices  of  the  House 
by  launching  into  any  imitation  of  Demosthenian  oratory, 
which  would  only  have  been  ridiculed.  He  was  a  tall  hand 
some  man,  with  bright  dark  eyes,  and  a  bland  countenance,  lit 
up,  however,  by  a  very  intellectual  expression.  His  manner  was 
conciliatory  and  serious.  All  parties  were  unanimous  that 

1  He  is  a  scholar,  and  a  ripe  and  good  one, 
Exceeding  wise,  fair  spoken,  and  persuading.' 

During  Sir  Robert  Peel's  short  tenure  of  power  in  1834  he  was 
made  Under-Secretary  for  the  Colonies.  In  the  following  year 
he  returned  with  his  patron  once  more  to  the  Opposition  benches. 
It  would  be  curious  to  follow  the  careers  of  these  two  young 
politicians  across  the  stormy  seas  of  public  life.  How  far  they 
would  be  able  to  push  their  adventurous  barks,  which  would  out 
sail  the  other,  whether  either  would  ever  rise  to  command  on 
the  quarter-deck,  it  was,  of  course,  impossible  to  foresee.  That 
both  would  make  their  mark  on  contemporary  history  there  was 
little  doubt.  Disraeli  had  the  harder  battle  to  fight.  There 
was  a  strong  prejudice  in  this  country  against  a  Jew  even  after 
he  had  abandoned  his  ancient  faith.  There  was,  too,  a  lively  dis 
like  in  the  political  world  of  a  mere  literary  man,  and  up  to  this 
time  Disraeli  had  won  his  chief  distinction  in  the  paths  of  litera 
ture,  and  that  of  the  most  ephemeral  kind.  But  he  had  already 
evinced  so  much  daring  and  tenacity  of  purpose,  that  it  was  pretty 
certain  he  would  fight  on,  in  the  warlike  spirit  of  Macbeth, 

'  Till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  be  hacked.' 

July  was  gradually  waning,  and  the  glories  of  the  season  of 
1837  were  fast  fading  away.  Dinners,  balls,  and  festivities  of  all 
kinds  were  becoming  *  fine  by  degrees,  and  beautifully  less.' 
For  my  part,  I  was  not  sorry  to  escape  from  further  midnight 
revels.  I  had  supped  full  of  the  delights  of  London  drawing- 
rooms,  of  their  bevies  of  fair  women  and  crowds  of  lordly  men. 
Though  not  in  the  sullen  vein  of  Wolsey  when  he  exclaimed, 
*  Vain  pomp  and  glory  of  this  world,  I  hate  ye,'  still  I  was  far 
from  the  regretful  mood  of  our  first  parents,  when  leaving  Eden : 
4  Must  I  then  leave  thee,  Paradise  ?'  I  had  abandoned  myself 


London  Revisited.  417 


willingly  to  the  maelstrom  of  fashionable  gaieties  that,  during 
the  season,  converts  life  in  London  into  a  never-ending  still- 
beginning  scene  of  mad  pastime  ;  for  I  desired  to  see  it  in  all 
its  charm,  variety,  and  splendour.  But  now  I  was  in  the  hu 
mour  to  echo  the  words  of  Horace,  Jam  satis,  and  to  retire  from 
the  giddy  whirl.  In  this  contented  quiescent  state  of  mind  I 
received  one  morning  the  following  note  from  my  cherished 
colleague,  Richard  Vaux  : 

Thursday. 

Dear  Harry, — Prince  Esterhazy  sent  a  note  last  evening  to 
the  Minister,  saying  he  would  be  glad  to  see  us  to-night  at  his 
ball.  It  would  be  hardly  less  than  an  act  of  tise  majeste  not  to 
respond  in  person  to  the  invitation.  I  have  heard  you  lately 
complain  of  the  fatigues  of  the  season,  but  on  this  occasion  you 
must  rouse  your  jaded  limbs  to  a  final  effort.  What  a  screech 
of  triumph  would  the  double-headed  eagle  of  Austria  give  to  see 
the  young  and  aspiring  bird  of  America  stretched  with  folded 
wings  and  hanging  head  exhausted  on  the  ground  !  Perish  the 
thought !  Mind  you  are  ready  to  join  me  when  I  call  to-night 
at  twelve  to  half-past.  '  On  with  the  dance,  let  joy  be  uncon- 
fined.' — Thine  always,  DlCK. 

I  should  have  mentioned  before  that  my  friend  Vaux,  of 
whom  I  have  already  spoken,  had  joined  the  United  States 
Legation  in  London,  in  the  early  spring  of  this  year,  as  private 
secretary  to  Mr.  Stevenson.  I  hailed  his  advent  with  delight, 
and  many  a  pleasant  hour  had  we  spent  in  each  other's  society. 
This  was  his  first  visit  abroad  ;  and,  after  his  studious  and  quiet 
life  in  Philadelphia,  the  dissipation  of  the  London  season  had 
exhilarated  him  to  a  giddy  pitch  of  excitement  He  seemed 
never  to  have  his  fill  of  revelry,  and,  as  his  note  shows,  was  as 
eager  for  the  last  ball  as  the  first.  It  was  difficult  to  refuse  his 
stirring  appeal,  though  I  groaned  inwardly  at  the  prospect  of 
another  night  on  foot. 

The  Prince  Esterhazy  was  the  Austrian  Ambassador  to  the 
Court  of  St.  James,  and  represented  one  of  the  oldest  families 
of  Hungary.  His  pedigree  could  be  traced  to  Attila,  King  of 
the  Huns.  He  was  the  owner  of  immense  estates,  and  his 
annual  revenue  was  computed  at  millions.  The  celebrated 
Tokay  wine,  considered  the  rarest  in  Europe,  was  the  product 
of  one  of  his  Hungarian  domains,  and  was  never  sold,  but  dis 
tributed  as  presents  to  the  various  sovereigns  of  Europe.  The 

EF, 


4i  8  London  Revisited, 


father  of  the  Prince  was  offered  the  crown  of  Hungary  by 
Napoleon  in  1809,  but  he  refused  to  be  disloyal  to  the  House 
of  Austria. 

Prince  Paul,  as  the  Austrian  Ambassador  was  familiarly 
called,  was  an  immense  favourite  in  English  society.  He  was 
one  of  the  most  amiable  and  affable  of  men.  His  bright  blue 
eyes,  and  good-natured  physiognomy  always  wreathed  in  smiles, 
were  seen  everywhere  ;  and  at  the  Court  fetes  his  light  graceful 
figure,  clad  in  the  showy  uniform  of  a  Hungarian  hussar,  was 
conspicuous  above  all  others.  A  ball  at  the  Austrian  Embassy 
always  rallied  the  beau  monde  of  the  West-end  ;  and  as  this  was 
known  to  be  the  last  gathering  of  the  season,  I  was  not  sur 
prised,  when  Vaux  and  I  entered  the  saloons  of  Chandos 
House  after  midnight,  to  find  them  already  crowded  with  the 
Mite  of  the  fashionable  world. 

There  may  not  be  the  polished  grace  and  elegance  of  toilette 
in  an  English  assembly  that  you  encounter  in  the  best  French 
society  ;  but  the  majestic  persons  of  these  Saxon  dames,  and  the 
admirable  tone  of  the  men,  make  ample  amends.  There  was 
about  them,  perhaps,  a  spice  of  hauteur  that  was  not  at  all  dis 
tasteful  ;  but  it  could  not  fail  to  remind  foreigners  that  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  Albion  are  not  without  a  faint  conviction 
of  their  claims  to  profound  consideration.  The  inspiring  strains 
of  the  music,  and  the  lovely  white  shoulders  flitting  at  every 
moment  by  us,  had  their  natural  effect  on  my  ally  Dick  and 
myself,  who  soon  parted  company,  and  were  lost  in  the  mazy 
rounds  of  the  dance.  Amid  these  fairy-like  revels  the  time  sped 
rapidly  on  ;  but  before  leaving  I  wandered  up  to  the  buffet  to  sip 
a  glass  of  the  Prince's  famous  Tokay,  when  my  glance  fell  on  a 
lady  whose  extraordinary  beauty  entranced  me.  Description 
would  be  idle — a  commanding  height,  a  faultless  figure,  a  com 
plexion  of  roses  and  lilies,  magic  in  the  eyes,  sorcery  in  the 
smile  ;  in  short,  it  was 

'A  sight  to  dream  of,  not  to  tell.' 

I  found  this  prodigy  of  loveliness  was  a  daughter  of  Earl  Roden, 
and  recently  married  to  Viscount  Powerscourt,  the  very  nobleman 
I  had  met  at  Saratoga  three  years  previously.  I  lost  at  least 
one  hour's  comfortable  rest  in  bed  by  lingering  on  for  still 
another  gaze  at  this  magnificent  creature, '  framed  in  the  prodi 
gality  of  Nature.' 


CHAPTER  XLII. 

HOLLAND  AND  BELGIUM.   • 

AMSTERDAM — THE  HAGUE — ANTWERP — BRUSSELS. 

ON  a  lovely  morning  in  the  beginning  of  August  I  embarked 
at  London  Bridge  on  board  the  steamer  for  Rotterdam  with 
Forrest  and  his  bride,  to  carry  out  our  projected  excursion  to 
Holland  and  Belgium,  which  none  of  us  had  yet  visited.  Forrest 
was  resolved  to  make  short  work  •  of  it,  as  he  was  anxious  to 
catch  the  next  packet  from  Havre  to  New  York,  where  he  was 
under  an  engagement  to  appear  at  the  end  of  September. 

After  breakfast  the  tragedian  went  '  forrard'  to  indulge  in  his 
mild  havanna,  whilst  I  sat  down  for  a  dish  of  chat  with  his 
intelligent  wife.  Among  other  topics  we  touched  upon  was 
that  of  religion,  when  I  did  not  hesitate  to  warn  her  against  the 
freethinking  tendencies  of  her  husband,  with  whom,  in  our  travels, 
I  had  many  a  wrangle  on  this  subject.  Her  reply  was  naive  and 
womanly. 

'  I  have  no  fear,'  she  said,  '  of  his  influence  in  this  respect. 
I  could  not  disbelieve  in  religion  if  I  would,  and  the  very  thought 
of  it  fills  me  with  horror.  It  seems  impossible  for  the  human 
mind  to  exist  without  a  faith  of  some  sort.  The  history  of  the 
world  proves  that  no  nation  was  ever  known  without  a  religion. 
Our  Christian  tenets  are  so  pure  and  elevating  that  it  is  un 
natural  to  reject  them.  There  may  be  intellects  strong  enough 
to  dispense  with  belief ;  but  for  my  part  I  fancy  most  freethinkers 
are  more  carried  away  by  vanity  than  incredulity,  and  parade 
their  infidelity  to  show  a  superior  mind,  unaware  that  they  simply 
make  themselves  odious  or  ridiculous.  Believing  for  most  of  the 
world  is  easier  than  disbelieving,  and  to  say  the  least  they  are 
quite  as  likely  to  be  in  the  right.  I  know  nothing  of  my  hus 
band's  opinions  on  this  grave  topic,  and  after  what  you  say  I 
shall  never  engage  in  any  discussion  of  it  under  any  provoca 
tion.  I  think  it  wise  for  a  wife  to  avoid  collision  of  opinion  with 
her  consort  on  all  possible  subjects,  but  on  this  one  especially.' 


42O  Holland  and  Belgium. 

I  heartily  commended  her  sensible  views  and  prudent  reso 
lutions  ;  but  whilst  still  talking  with  her  I  observed  she  grew 
suddenly  pale,  and  indulged  in  some  grimaces  of  a  startling 
description. 

*  I  begin  to  feel  very  dizzy,'  she  exclaimed ;  '  pray  give  me 
your  arm.  I  must  go  below,  I  feel  so  strange/ 

I  escorted  her  to  the  door  of  the  ladies'  cabin,  and  the  mys 
terious  sounds  issuing  thence  proved  that  she  was  not  the  first 
victim  of  the  ill-behaviour  of  our  steamer,  which,  having  left  the 
placid  bosom  of  the  Thames,  was  rolling  wildly  about  on  the 
angry  surface  of  the  North  Sea.  Forrest  and  I,  who  were  hard 
ened  sailors,  had  nearly  all  the  good  things  at  dinner  to  our 
selves. 

It  was  a  great  relief  to  many  sorely-tried  stomachs  when  we 
steamed  next  morning  into  the  Meuse,  and  fastened  our  hawsers 
to  the  solid  quay  of  Rotterdam.  We  were  glad  to  get  ashore ; 
and  the  bride,  who  had  recovered  her  colour  and  affability,  made 
a  breakfast  all  the  heartier  that  she  had  to  forego  her  dinner  of 
the  previous  day. 

I  was  pleased  with  the  quaint  and  original  aspect  of  Rot 
terdam.  It  was  intersected  in  every  direction  by  canals  that 
reminded  me  somewhat  of  Venice,  but  instead  of  sombre  palaces 
the  banks  were  lined  with  elm  and  lime  trees.  The  houses,  with 
their  gables  towards  the  street,  and  their  little  wooden  balconies, 
had  nothing  in  common  with  the  German  towns  I  had  seen, 
proving  that  the  Dutch  were  as  independent  in  their  architecture 
as  in  other  matters.  The  women,  with  their  short  petticoats, 
pert  caps,  and  rosy  cheeks,  added  not  a  little  to  the  attractions 
of  the  place.  I  was  amused  at  their  extraordinary  mania  for 
washing  and  scouring.  At  every  turn  they  were  hard  at  it  in  one 
way  or  another,  and  I  was  convinced  that  the  national  reputation 
for  cleanliness  was  honestly  earned.  They  seemed  an  industrious 
lot  too,  for  everybody  was  doing  something  in  the  way  of  work. 

After  breakfast  we  ascended  a  tower  of  great  height,  350 
feet,  and  the  view  was  striking  and  pleasing.  The  country  on 
every  side  was  as  flat  as  a  pancake,  with  water  always  in  sight. 
No  wonder,  in  the  days  of  the  Romans,  the  whole  land  was  sub 
merged  for  six  months  at  a  time.  Some  countries  are  troubled 
with  volcanoes  and  earthquakes  ;  India  is  a  prey  more  or  less 
to  wild  beasts  ;  but  anybody  who  lives  in  Holland  ought  to  have 
a  boat  handy,  for,  in  town  or  country,  there  is  water  everywhere. 


Holland  and  Belgium.  42 1 

The  pasturage  was  magnificent.  Immense  numbers  of  fine  cattle 
were  scattered  about,  and  I  could  understand  why  the  land  over 
flowed  with  milk,  if  not  with  honey.  Flowers,  too,  of  great 
splendour  were  abundant,  as  horticulture  is  one  of  the  arts  in 
Holland.  

Next  morning  we  drove  off  to  the  Hague,  the  political  capital 
of  Holland,  some  twenty  miles  distant.  The  fine  weather,  the 
excellent  road  shaded  by  umbrageous  trees,  the  picturesque 
scenery,  and  the  happy  face  of  Mrs.  Forrest,  made  the  jaunt  quite 
delightful.  We  stopped  to  lunch  at  Delft,  so  renowned  for  its 
crockery.  I  strolled  off  to  an  old  church,  to  do  homage  at  the 
shrine  of  Grotius,  a  monster  of  learning,  who  wrote  Latin  verses 
when  eight  years  old.  He  was  born  in  Delft  in  1583,  and  his 
life  abounded  with  vicissitudes.  He  rose  to  distinction,  but 
quarrelled  with  the  Government,  and  was  condemned  to  per 
petual  imprisonment.  After  two  years  of  captivity  his  wife 
secreted  him  in  a  box  of  books,  and  so  effected  his  escape.  Chris 
tine,  the  Queen  of  Sweden,  made  him  her  Ambassador  at  Paris, 
where  he  remained  for  ten  years.  No  one  ever  surpassed  him  in 
•erudition.  His  works  on  the  most  recondite  subjects  are  num 
berless.  His  great  renown  was  to  be  the  founder  of  the  laws  of 
nations.  He  wrote  the  first  treatise  that  ever  appeared  on  this 
subject — De  Jure  Belli  et  Pads.  Though  not  so  witty  or  brilliant 
a  writer  as  his  fellow-countryman  Erasmus,  born  over  a  century 
before  him,  he  far  excelled  him  in  depth  and  variety  of  know- 
ledge. 

I  was  really  enchanted  with  the  Hague,  the  prettiest  town, 
in  many  respects,  I  had  ever  seen,  though  only  containing  some 
70,000  inhabitants. 

During  the  afternoon  Forrest  and  I  paid  a  visit  to  our 
Charge"  a"  Affaires,  Major  Davezac.  He  was  a  brother-in-law  of 
Edward  Livingston,  our  late  Minister  to  France,  and  an  aide-de 
camp  of  General  Jackson  at  the  battle  of  New  Orleans.  He 
received  us  with  great  warmth,  and  reminded  Forrest  he  had 
met  him  some  years  ago  in  Louisiana.  He  was  of  Creole  ex 
traction,  and  quite  a  Frenchman  in  appearance,  manners,  and 
accent.  We  left  him  after  a  pleasant  chat,  and  he  proposed  to 
call  in  the  evening,  to  be  presented  to  la  nouvelle  mariee. 

He  arrived  just  as  we  were  quaffing,  after  dinner,  some  deli 
cious  Burgundy,  and  joined  heartily  in  our  praise  of  Boniface's 


422  Holland  and  Belgium* 

cellar.  The  Major  was  a  delightful  talker,  and  quite  fascinated 
Mrs.  Forrest  with  his  piquant  anecdotes,  told  with  all  the  grace 
and  animation  of  a  Frenchman.  We  accepted  an  invitation 
to  take  a  French  breakfast  with  him  next  morning.  Nothing 
could  be  more  rechercht  than  the  repast ;  but  I  remarked  that 
our  conversation  was  frequently  enlivened  by  the  music  of  an 
anvil.  On  inquiry  I  discovered  that  our  Charge  was  living  over 
a  blacksmith's  shop,  which  I  thought  an  odd  fancy.  Yet  if  no 
one  had  oddities,  the  world  would  not  be  half  so  amusing. 

I  touched  a  responsive  chord  when  I  alluded  to  the  battle 
of  New  Orleans.  The  Major  was  never  loth  to 

'  Shoulder  his  crutch,  and  show  how  fields  were  won.' 

He  gave  endless  details  of  that  memorable  day.  It  would  have 
driven  Andrew  Jackson  Allen  wild  with  delight  if  he  could  have 
heard  an  eye-witness  extol  the  prowess  of  the  hero  of  the  fight. 

Our  meal  over,  we  rambled  off  to  the  picture-gallery  of  the 
town.  I  have  a  passion  for  the  Dutch  school,  and  revelled  with 
out  stint  in  the  treasures  gathered  there.  The  portraits  of  Rem 
brandt,  the  cattle-pieces  and  landscapes  of  Paul  Potter  and  Cuyp,. 
quite  overpowered  me.  In  the  world  of  art  there  is  nothing  ta 
surpass  them. 

The  courteous  Davezac  dined  with  us  that  evening,  and  did 
his  best  to  prolong  our  stay.  He  offered  to  introduce  us  to  all 
sorts  of  fine  people,  not  suspecting  that  would  only  precipitate 
Forrest's  departure. 

The  next  day  we  drove  on  to  Amsterdam.  It  is  a  repro 
duction  in  appearance  and  character  of  its  sister  Rotterdam, 
but  on  a  larger  scale — over  200,000  people.  It  is  wholly  built 
on  piles  ;  and  its  numberless  canals  convert  it  into  a  city  of 
islands,  amounting  to  ninety  in  all,  with  no  less  than  two  hun 
dred  and  eighty  bridges  to  connect  them.  Its  port  is  considered 
one  of  the  best  in  Europe.  Its  celebrated  Bank  dates  from 
1 309.  For  any  one  fond  of  commerce,  ship-building,  and  im 
ports  and  exports,  I  commend  him  to  Amsterdam.  As  for  us, 
our  tastes  did  not  run  that  way,  and  we  were  eager  to  turn  about 
and  push  on  to  old  Flanders,  modern  Belgium. 

In  leaving  Holland  I  had  none  of  the  cynical  humour  that 
inspired  Voltaire  when  he  exclaimed,  '  Adiett,  canauxy  canards \ 
canaille  /'  On  the  contrary,  I  cherished  the  liveliest  feelings  of 
interest  in  the  country  and  its  denizens.  With  an  insignificant 


Holland  and  Belgium.  423 

area  and  a  mere  handful  of  people,  never  daring  to  withdraw  their 
eye  from  the  aggressive  ocean  around  them,  Holland  has 
managed  to  carry  her  head  high  among  the  nations.  Though 
overrun  by  the  Romans,  the  Franks,  and  the  Spaniards,  yet  her 
nationality  was  never  effaced.  Besides  foreign  wars  innumer 
able,  she  has  been  rent  a  thousand  times  by  civil  dissensions. 
The  Dutch  are  neither  an  impulsive  or  enthusiastic  race,  and 
the  wonder  is  that  their  career  should  have  been  so  stormy  and 
chequered.  I  can  only  account  for  it  by  the  preponderance  of  a 
trait  which  is  undeniable.  Their  stubbornness  is  proverbial ;  and 
a  nation  which  insists  on  its  own  way  in  everything  is  bound  to 
be  always  in  collision  with  the  rest  of  mankind.  With  a  Dutch 
man  there  is  no  choice  :  you  must  either  yield  to  him  or  fight. 


We  halted  for  a  couple  of  days  at  Antwerp — that  during  the 
Middle  Ages  was  the  most  flourishing  port  of  Europe — chiefly 
to  contemplate  the  pictures  of  some  of  its  great  masters.  Rubens,, 
his  pupil  Vandyck,  and  the  younger  Teniers  have  immortalised 
their  native  town,  though  the  latter  passed  but  a  short  portion- 
of  his  life  there.  Rubens  has  never  been  exceeded  for  brilliancy 
of  colour  ;  but  his  fondness  for  plump  well-fed  beauty  I  consider 
a  fault.  No  one,  however,  can  contest  the  vigour  and  gran- 
deur  of  most  of  his  compositions.  He  painted  with  wonderful 
facility,  and  the  churches  of  Antwerp,  and  the  Louvre  of  Paris,, 
display  his  singular  fecundity.  He  equally  excelled  in  portrait,, 
landscape,  animals,  and  history. 

Vandyck  is  thought  to  have  surpassed  his  master  in  ideality 
and  grace  ;  but  after  some  years  he  abandoned  historical  sub 
jects  and  gave  himself  up  to  portraits,  which,  to  this  day,  are 
unrivalled.  He,  too,  painted  with  such  ease  that  he  could  dash 
off  one  or  two  portraits  in  a  day,  if  so  minded. 

Teniers  the  younger  is  here  seen  in  all  his  glory.  His  pictures 
have  an  immense  charm  for  me.  The  subjects  are  invariably 
domestic  and  familiar,  often  grotesque,  and  even  vulgar.  Village 
scenes — a  wedding  of  peasants,  the  interior  of  a  cabaret,  with  its 
groups  of  drinkers,  smokers,  and  card-players — what  matchless 
truth,  what  subtle  inimitable  humour,  pervaded  them  all ! 


Brussels  is  a  beautiful  city,  and  reminded  me  somewhat  of 
Edinburgh,  with  its  old  town  and  its  new — here  perched  on  a 


424  Holland  and  Belgium. 

hill,  there  nestling  in  a  valley.  All  the  characteristics  of  the 
place,  the  manners  and  tone  of  the  people,  as  well  as  their  lan 
guage,  are  French — and  no  wonder.  For  many  centuries  Flan 
ders  and  the  north  of  France  were  closely  interwoven.  Calais, 
Dunkirk,  and  Lille  formed  part  of  the  domain  of  the  Count 
of  Flanders,  whose  daughter  married  William  the  Conqueror. 

We  made  a  rapid  inspection  of  Brussels,  that  I  resolved  to 
see  again,  and  continued  our  trip. 

Belgium,  so  often  the  battle-ground  of  Europe,  seemed  at  last 
to  have  obtained  tranquillity  and  prosperity.  She  possessed  a 
Constitution  which  guaranteed  every  kind  of  liberty. 


After  a  hot  and  dusty  journey  in  the  diligence  of  some  thirty- 
six  hours  we  alighted  in  Paris,  the  end  of  our  hurried  excursion. 
The  glorious  capital  looked  enchanting  in  its  summer  attire,  and 
the  cafe's  and  loungers  on  the  boulevards  were  just  as  attractive 
as  though  we  had  not  seen  them  before.  One  never  tires  of 
the  French,  either  men  or  women. 

All  the  world  was  talking  of  the  new  picture-gallery  at  Ver 
sailles.  The  King  had  conceived  the  idea  of  converting  the 
palace  of  Louis  XIV.  into  a  pictorial  history  of  France.  It  was 
no  longer  needed  as  a  royal  residence,  and  he  resolved  to  dedi 
cate  it  to  art.  We  drove  out  to  behold  the  transformation,  and 
were  filled  with  wonder.  Imposing  as  was  the  collection,  our 
inspection  of  the  pictures  was  constantly  diverted  by  the  mag 
nificence  of  their  receptacle.  Louis  XIV.  reared  this  gorgeous 
palace  for  himself.  Louis  Philippe  had  given  it  up  to  the  nation. 
After  a  few  brief  days  Forrest  and  his  bride  bade  me  farewell, 
and  started  for  New  York.  I  felt  less  regret  at  parting,  as  I 
expected  to  meet  them  soon  again  outre  mer. 

I  had  already  determined  to  return  home  this  autumn,  after 
an  absence  of  three  years,  which  had  been  so  crowded  with  in 
cident  that  it  seemed  much  longer.  I  had  no  plans  for  the 
future,  no  intention  of  settling  down  to  any  occupation  ;  but  I 
felt  a  lively  yearning  to  see  old  friends,  and  to  sniff  once  more 
my  native  air.  All  beyond  was  nebulous,  and  I  was  content  to 
leave  it  so. 


CHAPTER  XLIII. 

LONDON  REVISITED. 

A  RENCONTRE  WITH  CELEBRITIES — VISIT  TO  GORE  HOUSE — COUNT  D'ORSAY. 

I  ORDERED  a  seat  to  be  taken  in  the  coup/  of  the  diligence 
for  Boulogne,  on  my  return  to  London.  I  was  not  a  little 
annoyed  to  find  that  the  two  corners  were  secured,  and  I  had 
to  put  up  with  the  middle  place,  not  by  any  means  so  desirable. 
My  companions  in  the  coupe,  I  observed,  on  taking  my  place, 
were  a  gentleman  and  a  lady.  The  former  was  stately  in  ap 
pearance  and  somewhat  formal  in  manner,  rather  enhanced  by 
a  pair  of  gold  spectacles.  The  latter  was  so  veiled  I  could 
discern  nothing  of  her  physiognomy  ;  but  she  seemed  high 
bred  and  genial.  My  conclusions  were  favourable — no  small 
matter,  as  I  was  destined  to  be  shut  up  with  both  of  them 
for  twenty-four  hours,  stopping  only  for  breakfast  and  dinner. 
As  we  jolted  along,  a  steady  current  of  conversation  ebbed 
and  flowed  across  me  between  the  occupants  of  the  two 
corners.  I  gathered,  by  degrees,  that  no  relations  existed  be 
tween  them  other  than  that  the  lady  was  travelling  to  England 
under  the  escort  of  her  male  friend.  They  both  spoke  English 
admirably ;  but  I  thought  I  detected  in  the  gentleman  a  slight 
Milesian  accent,  whilst  the  peculiar  intonations  of  the  lady  con 
vinced  me  she  was  a  foreigner.  What  a  sweet  silvery  voice  she 
had!  There  was  something  in  her  demeanour  so  graceful  and 
seductive,  I  became  more  and  more  interested.  They  were  evi 
dently  persons  of  very  superior  culture,  for  every  topic  touched  on 
was  handled  in  a  masterly  manner.  It  was  equally  clear  they 
belonged  to  the  best  society,  for  they  seemed  on  familiar  terms 
with  everybody  of  high  repute  in  both  Paris  and  London. 

My  anxiety  was  keenly  excited  to  know  who  and  what  they 
were,  but  I  saw  not  the  faintest  chance  of  making  the  discovery. 
Finding  I  was  not  disposed  to  intrude  upon  their  conversation, 
they  both  began  to  manifest  an  amiable  tendency.  First  the 
gentleman  dropped  a  civil  remark  ;  and  then  the  lady  followed 


426  London  Revisited. 


it  up  with  a  question.  It  soon  turned  out  that  I  knew  many  of 
their  various  friends,  both  French  and  English,  and  this  added 
greatly,  no  doubt,  to  my  respectability  in  their  eyes.  I  began  to 
cherish  hopes  of  finding  them  out.  At  length  night  came  on, 
and  conversation  slackened.  Now  and  then  an  isolated  remark 
was  dropped,  like  a  stray  shot  after  a  battle,  and  then  all  was 
silence  again.  About  9  P.M.  we  stopped  for  dinner  ;  and  as  we 
sat  at  the  same  table,  I  had  an  opportunity  of  seeing,  for  the 
first  time,  the  face  of  the  lady,  which  was  exceedingly  pretty. 
Her  blue  eyes  were  full  of  archness,  and  sparkled  with  intel 
ligence.  Her  features  were  well-shaped.  Her  blonde  hair 
hung  round  her  visage  in  ringlets.  She  was  about  medium 
height,  and  perfect  in  symmetry.  I  fancied  she  was  near  thirty. 
Her  manner,  above  all,  was  captivating,  and  her  voice  completed 
the  charm.  The  gentleman  was  tall,  and  very  erect.  There  was 
a  precision  and  celerity  in  every  movement  that  indicated  energy 
and  a  well-balanced  mind.  I  observed  that  more  than  once  he 
addressed  the  lady  as  '  Countess/  which  showed  she  was  a  person 
of  rank.  After  resuming  our  places  in  the  diligence  we  talked 
for  some  time,  and  gradually,  one  after  the  other,  were  overtaken 
by  sleep. 

As  I  was  in  the  middle,  and  had  no  place  to  repose  on,  my 
head  toppled  over,  and,  strangely  enough,  it  gravitated  towards 
the  lady,  till  by  degrees  it  rested  on  her  plump  shoulder,  which 
must  have  been  a  very  soft  pillow,  for  I  slept  soundly  most  of 
the  night.  In  the  morning  she  told  me,  with  a  gentle  smile,  of 
the  unconscious  liberty  I  had  taken,  and  I  overflowed  with 
apologies  for  my  unintentional  rudeness.  I  found  my  travelling 
companions  so  agreeable  and  entertaining  that  I  took  no  note  ot 
time,  and  was  surprised  to  find  myself  in  Boulogne  about  five 
P.M.,  not  in  the  least  wearied  by  the  journey.  The  steamer  for 
London  did  not  leave  till  ten  o'clock,  and  we  had  abundant  time 
to  indulge  in  a  bath,  and  dine  at  our  ease.  I  now  dreaded  to 
lose  sight  of  my  unknown  acquaintances  ;  but  I  took  care  to 
accompany  them  to  the  same  hotel.  They  politely  asked  me  to 
join  them  at  dinner,  which  I  readily  accepted. 

After  a  cheerful  repast,  and  whilst  we  were  sipping  our  coffee, 
the  gentleman  said  to  me : 

'  As  we  are  both  residents  of  London,  I  should  be  very  happy 
to  meet  you  again  ;  and,  if  you  have  no  objection,  I  should  be 
pleased  to  exchange  cards  with  you.' 


London  Revisited.  427 


r  Most  willingly/  I  replied. 

On  looking  at  his  name,  my  surprise  was  extreme  to  find  I 
had  made  the  acquaintance  in  this  accidental  way  of  the  cele 
brated  Dyonisius  Lardner,  founder  of  the  Cabinet  Encyclopedia, 
and  by  far  the  most  popular  man  of  science  of  the  day.  I  ex 
pressed  my  great  pleasure  at  meeting  him,  when  the  lady  said  : 

1  Mon  cher  Lardner,  present  your  new  friend  to  me.' 

'  Certainly/  he  said.  '  Allow  me  to  introduce  you  to  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  going  to  London  on  a  visit  to  her  friend 
Lady  Blessington.' 

I  was  quite  dumbfounded  at  this  chance  encounter  with  a 
lady  whose  romantic  history  was  so  familiar  to  me,  and  who  was 
said  to  be  the  only  woman  the  poet  Byron  ever  truly  loved.  I 
tried  to  prevent  any  unseemly  display  of  my  astonishment  at 
this  strange  adventure,  but  assured  her  of  my  profound  delight 
in  having  so  unexpectedly  made  her  acquaintance.  I  told  her 
how  puzzled  I  had  been  to  divine  her  nationality,  and  that  her 
fair  complexion  and  blue  eyes  led  me  to  suppose  she  was  a 
German,  perhaps  a  Russian,  but  I  had  never  suspected  for  a 
moment  she  was  an  Italian  of  unmixed  descent.  We  con 
tinued  to  chat  till  we  were  summoned  on  board  the  steamer, 
and  parted  for  the  night.  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  grew 
sufficiently  composed  to  sleep,  and  my  last  thought  was  that  on 
the  previous  night  I  had  luxuriated  on  a  bed  of  down  that  the 
illustrious  Byron  once  so  highly  prized.  We  landed  early  next 
morning  in  London,  and  separated  with  the  mutual  exclamation 
of  au  revoir. 

As  I  drove  from  London  Bridge  to  my  residence  I  had  full  time 
to  muse  over  my  good  fortune  in  falling  in  with  two  celebrities  I 
had  never  dreamt  of  meeting.  Moore's  Life  of  Byron  and  other 
books  had  made  me  well  acquainted  with  the  sentimental  career 
of  the  Countess  Guiccioli.  She  was  a  daughter  of  Count  Gamba, 
the  head  of  an  ancient  family  of  Italy.  She  was  barely  fifteen 
when  she  was  taken  from  the  convent  where  she  was  educated 
to  marry  an  old  man  of  great  wealth,  the  Count  Guiccioli.  The 
match  was  forced  on  her  by  her  family  without  regard  to  her 
inclinations.  She  was  just  sixteen  when  she  met  Lord  Byron, 
then  living  in  Venice.  He  seems  to  have  lost  his  head  at  first 
sight,  and  she  must  have  been  exquisitely  beautiful.  Who  can 
wonder  that  the  young  and  inexperienced  girl,  full  of  sensibility 
and  longing  for  an  idol,  should  have  abandoned  herself,  heart 


428  London  Revisited. 


and  soul,  to  such  a  man  as  Byron,  not  merely  handsome,  but  in 
every  way  fascinating  ?  The  liaison  that  ensued  lasted  till  the 
heroic  poet  went  to  Greece  in  1823,  where  he  died  prematurely 
the  following  year.  I  looked  forward  with  eagerness  to  the  con 
tinuance  of  my  acquaintance  with  the  bien-aimee  of  Byron.  She 
had  kindly  offered  to  introduce  me  to  Lady  Blessington,  at 
whose  invitation  she  had  come  to  London.  How  often  I  had 
gazed  at  the  admired  mistress  of  Gore  House  at  the  Opera  and 
in  the  Park !  How  assiduously  I  had  devoured  her  brilliant 
novels,  her  travels,  her  conversations  with  Byron,  without  ever 
anticipating  it  would  be  my  happiness  to  kiss  the  hand  that 
penned  them  ! 

No  one  in  England  at  that  day  enjoyed  such  enviable  prestige 
as  Dr.  Lardner.  His  scientific  attainments  and  his  eloquence  as 
a  writer  and  lecturer  had  given  him  immense  vogue.  With  a 
view  to  aid  his  friend  Lord  Brougham  in  his  project  for  the 
'diffusion  of  knowledge/  he  established  in  1830  his  Cabinet  En- 
cyclopczdia,  consisting  of  short  essays  on  every  branch  of  learning^ 
written  partly  by  himself  and  partly  by  the  ablest  men  of  the 
country. 

I  could  not  but  think  that  my  star  was  in  the  ascendant,  to 
be  able  to  enrol  amongst  my  friends  persons  of  such  an  interest 
ing  description  as  these,  and  I  rejoiced  accordingly.  Among 
other  failings  I  might  as  well  confess  to  a  violent  hankering 
after  celebrities.  There  is  no  reason  I  should  not  acknowledge 
so  venial  a  weakness.  It  was  not  the  mere  vanity  of  knowing 
people  who  had  achieved  distinction  or  incurred  notoriety,  as. 
the  case  might  be ;  but  certain  it  was  that  all  individuals,  male 
or  female,  with  a  history  attached  to  them  had  a  charm  for  me 
that  was  well-nigh  irresistible.  It  could  hardly  be  considered 
strange  to  feel  curiosity  about  persons  who  were  prominent  in 
the  world.  It  might  be  pronounced  eccentric  to  chase  after 
them  with  the  ardour  of  a  foxhunter,  and  I  could  not  honestly 
tax  myself  with  such  puerility.  Yet  I  admit  that  the  halo  en 
circling  the  heads  of  the  conspicuous  had  a  magnetic  attraction  . 
I  never  sought  to  resist  It  might  be  regarded  as  a  fancy,  but  it 
had  its  raison  rfetre,  as  the  French  say — its  justification — in  my 
mental  or  moral  organisation.  My  want  of  ambition,  and  my 
dislike  to  that  strenuous  exertion  necessary  to  acquire  any  kind 
of  eminence,  probably  made  me  curious  to  study  and  investigate 
closely  the  men  and  women  who  worked  and  fretted  to  record 


London  Revisited.  429 


their  names  on  the  pillar  of  fame.  The  people  who  are  a  prey- 
to  these  unappeasable  cravings  after  renown  must  be  of  a 
superior  order  to  the  rest ;  their  minds  must  be  of  richer  texture 
and  their  characters  of  stronger  fibre.  They  may  be  considered 
the  natural  aristocrats  of  the  race,  and  association  with  them 
could  not  be  other  than  a  pleasure  and  a  profit.  It  might  be 
also  the  conviction  that  greatness  of  any  kind  was  beyond  my 
reach,  made  me  love  to  approach  and  bask  in  its  refulgence. 
It  was  a  privilege  that  filled  the  measure  of  my  aspirations  ; 
and  if  it  be  true  that  '  none  can  be  unhappy  but  the  great/  I 
was  consoled  to  forego  greatness,  and  rest  contented  in  my 
sphere. 

I  found  the  metropolis,  at  least  the  fashionable  part  of  it,. 
utterly  deserted  when  I  returned.  The  Opera  was  closed,  and 
half  the  theatres.  The  Park  was  a  dismal  solitude.  The  beau 
monde  were  scattered  in  all  directions.  Happily  some  of  my 
friends  were  within  reach.  The  Bates  family  were  at  their  villa, 
at  Wimbledon  ;  the  Dunlops  residing  at  Richmond  ;  and  some 
of  my  diplomatic  associates  were  officially  tied  to  the  town,, 
though  I  found  the  American  Minister  had  gone  off  for  a  jaunt. 
My  approaching  embarkation  filled  me  with  sadness  at  parting 
with  friends  to  whom  I  had  grown  much  attached.  The  touch 
ing  lines  of  Coleridge  were  constantly  in  my  mind  : 

1  To  know,  to  esteem,  to  love,  and  then  to  part, 
Makes  up  life's  tale  to  many  a  feeling  heart.' 

The  sharpest  wrench  of  all  was  separating  from  the  Dunlop 
family,  with  whom  I  had  lived  in  close  intimacy.  Miss  Gamble 
.was  amiable  enough  to  say  she  hoped  I  would  come  back  some 
day  ;  and,  with  a  glance  I  meant  to  be  telling,  I  assured  her  such 
was  my  fixed  intention.  I  was  glad  that  at  the  last  dinner  there 
were  some  others  present,  as  it  helped  to  divert  my  mind.  Sir 
Francis  Chantry,  the  renowned  sculptor,  was  among  the  guests, 
and  he  talked  as  well  as  he  chiselled. 

A  few  days  after  my  return,  Dr.  Lardner  called,  and  we  had 
a  pleasant  chat.  He  regretted  my  early  departure,  but  said  I 
must  dine  with  him  before  going.  Among  other  topics,  I 
deplored  the  necessity  of  my  again  crossing  the  Atlantic  under 
sail,  but  hoped  the  time  was  not  distant  when  steam  would  be 
adopted. 

'  There  is  little  prospect  of  that,'  said  the  man  of  science 


430  London  Revisited. 


•emphatically.  '  A  steamer  would  never  be  able  to  contend 
successfully  against  the  mighty  power  of  the  Atlantic.  The 
machinery  would  be  disabled  ;  the  wheels  would  be  rendered 
useless  ;  the  coal  she  would  be  obliged  to  carry  would  leave  no 
room  for  cargo  ;  and  mere  passenger  traffic  would  never  defray 
the  expenses  of  such  an  enterprise.' 

1 1  admit  your  high  authority/  I  retorted, '  for  who  has  written 
so  ably  on  steam  propulsion  ?  But  in  spite  of  your  prognostics, 
you  know,  they  are  building  a  steamer  at  Bristol,  and  another 
in  London,  to  put  the  experiment  to  a  test  ;  and  if  either  was 
ready,  I  would  readily  take  the  risk  to  escape  the  dreary  ordeal 
of  a  sailing-vessel/ 

1  It  is  astonishing/  remarked  Dr.  L., c  that  people  will  be  so 
silly  as  to  put  money  into  such  experiments.  It  will  end  in 
failure,  and  probably  in  a  dreadful  catastrophe.  Take  my  advice, 
and  stick  to  your  splendid  "  liners."  Better  pass  an  additional 
week  at  sea,  than  never  reach  the  shore.' 

In  the  face  of  the  ominous  predictions  of  this  learned  oracle 
I  clung  to  the  hope,  if  not  the  belief,  that  the  Atlantic  would 
still  be  conquered  by  steam  ;  and  so  the  discussion  ended. 

My  time  was  oozing  away  rapidly.  Scarce  ten  days  inter 
vened  before  my  departure,  and  still  I  heard  nothing  from  the 
lovely  Countess.  I  was  forced  to  think  I  had  passed  from  her 
recollection  ;  but  amid  these  desponding  reflections  a  note  from 
her  finally  arrived.  It  was  written  in  English,  in  a  clear  bold 
hand,  and  showed  such  familiarity  with  the  language,  I  am 
tempted  to  append  it : 

Gore  House. 

The  Countess  Guiccioli  presents  her  compliments  to  Mr. 
Wikoff,  and  is  very  happy  to  inform  him  that  the  Countess  of 
Elessington  will  make  his  acquaintance  with  the  greatest  plea 
sure.  Mr.  WikofF  may  come  whenever  he  likes  to  Gore  House, 
in  the  evening,  and  the  Countess  G.  will  present  him  to  Lady 
Blessington. 

Thursday. 

I  was  vastly  delighted  at  the  chance  of  improving  my  ac 
quaintance  with  this  interesting  woman,  and  not  less  elated  at 
the  prospect  of  meeting  Lady  Blessington,  whose  reputation  as 
an  authoress,  as  well  as  her  piquant  career,  made  me  eager  to 
behold  her.  She  was  of  Irish  birth  and  good  family.  She  was 


London  Revisited.  43 1 


but  sixteen  when  she  was  forced  into  a  marriage  with  a  Captain 
Fanner,  whose  fortune  was  an  object  to  her  parents.  After  a 
wretched  life  of  two  or  three  years,  the  unhappy  girl  abandoned 
her  husband  for  ill-treatment.  For  several  years  she  led  a  roving 
life,  sometimes  in  Ireland,  and  then  in  England.  In  1817  her 
husband  died  ;  and  the  following  year  she  married  an  Irish  lord, 
the  Earl  of  Blessington,  and  long  a  devoted  suitor.  She  was 
then  twenty-eight,  in  the  zenith  of  her  beauty.  They  travelled 
for  some  years  in  Italy,  where  she  met  Byron,  whose  delightful 
conversations  she  had  recorded.  They  lived  afterwards  in  Paris 
in  great  luxury,  where  Lord  Blessington  died  in  1829.  With  an 
ample  income,  the  widow  returned  to  London,  and  established 
herself  in  Gore  House,  which  soon  became  the  resort  of  the 
leading  men  of  the  day.  A  favourite  of  Lord  Blessington  was  a 
young  Frenchman,  Count  D'Orsay,  who  accompanied  him  and 
his  Countess  in  their  Italian  tour.  A  match  was  arranged 
between  a  daughter  of  Lord  B.  by  his  first  marriage  and  the 
Count ;  but  it  soon  ended  in  a  separation.  Since  Lady  Blessing- 
ton  established  her  residence  in  London,  Count  D'Orsay  had 
constantly  resided  there,  and  was  well-nigh  a  fixture  at  Gore 
House.  Mrs.  Grundy  took  exception  to  this  close  intimacy,  and 
consequently  the  fair  sex  were  seldom  seen  at  this  brilliant  ren 
dezvous  of  fashion  and  intellect. 

These  recollections  flitted  across  my  mind  as  I  was  driving 
to  the  mansion  of  Lady  Blessington,  in  the  environs  of  Lon 
don. 

My  name  was  announced  by  the  footman  as  I  entered  a 
sumptuous  apartment  on  the  ground  floor,  and  my  pulse  beat 
quickly  as  I  advanced  towards  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  who,  after 
shaking  hands  with  me,  cordially  presented  me  to  the  mistress 
of  the  house.  It  was  only  nine  P.M.,  and  no  ether  guests  had 
arrived.  I  must  confess  that,  finding  myself  sitting  face  to  face 
with  these  two  gifted  and  remarkable  women,  I  experienced  an 
embarrassment  I  could  scarcely  overcome.  I  fancy  Lady  Bless 
ington  must  have  perceived  some  signs  of  nervousness,  for  she 
immediately  began  talking  in  the  most  friendly  and  unaffected 
manner. 

1 1  know  a  countryman  of  yours/  she  said,  '  and  like  him  very 
much — Mr.  Willis.  Have  you  ever  met  him  ?' 

'  He  left  the  University  just  as  I  entered  it,'  I  replied  ;  '  but  I 
remember  him  very  well.' 


43 2  London  Revisited. 


*  I  found  him  a  very  agreeable  person,'  she  continued,  '  and 
think  him  a  brilliant  writer.' 

'  I  fully  agree  with  your  ladyship.  His  recent  book  of  tra 
vels  I  consider  quite  a  gem,  though  it  has  been  harshly  treated  by 
English  critics.' 

'  Not  by  all/  said  Lady  B.  ;  '  but  several  of  high  authority 
have  assailed  it  bitterly.  The  only  offence  that  Willis  really  com 
mitted  was  the  repetition  of  certain  remarks  made  at  my  table 
which  ought  not  to  have  been  published.  He  regrets  the  inad 
vertency,  I  know  ;  and  he  underrated  their  significance.  Besides, 
he  never  could  have  expected  they  would  attract  so  much  atten 
tion  in  this  country.' 

*  A  conclusive  proof/  I  said,  *  of  the  great  merit  of  his  sketches, 
Admitting,  as  I  do,  that  he  was   reprehensible  in  the   matter  al 
luded  to,  yet  it  strikes  me  as   unfair  to  make  him  the  target  of 
such  abuse.     I  suspect  it  is  on  the  score  of  his  nationality.     I 
fear,  Countess/  I  continued,  smiling, '  that  England  has  not  for 
given  us  for  our  rebellious  conduct  in  1776.' 

'  Well/  rejoined  her  ladyship,  in  the  sweetest  tones, '  you  do 
deserve  some  punishment  for  abandoning  your  mother  country, 
and  forcing  her  afterwards  to  give  you  up  as  irreclaimable.  But, 
though  there  are  some  spiteful  critics  here  who  gladly  seized 
such  a  chance  as  poor  Willis  offered,  you  have  hosts  of  friends, 
increasing  every  day.  Your  great  writers,  Irving  and  Cooper,  I 
hear  repeatedly  extolled,  and  many  of  your  public  men  are  vastly 
admired.  For  my  part,  I  am  keenly  flattered  to  hear  my  poor 
books  are  much  read  in  the  States/ 

Her  ladyship  was  here  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  a  batch 
of  guests  ;  and,  getting  up,  I  sauntered  away. 

All  that  I  had  heard  of  Lady  Blessington,  her  appearance, 
manners,  and  conversation,  I  found  not  in  the  least  exaggerated. 
Though  no  longer  young — she  was  over  forty — she  was  still  ex 
ceedingly  handsome.  A  very  fair  skin,  well-cut  features,  deeply 
blue  eyes,  and  dark-brown  hair  ;  quite  the  Irish  type.  She  was 
wonderfully  graceful,  and  knew  how,  by  a  word  or  a  look,  to  con 
ciliate  all  with  whom  she  came  in  contact. 

I  amused  myself  for  a  time  wandering  about  the  superb  apart 
ment,  which  was  some  sixty  feet  in  length,  and  adorned  with  rich 
furniture  and  rare  works  of  art.  A  bewildering  variety  of  name 
less  things,  curious  and  beautiful,  attracted  my  attention  every 
moment,  when  suddenly  the  Countess  Guiccioli  came  up,  and  said,. 


London  Revisited.  433 


'  I  did  not  interrupt  your  conversation  with  Lady  Blessington, 
as  you  were  discussing  a  mutual  friend  ;  but  now  I  want  ma 
revanche.  Let  us  go  to  the  drawing-rooms  and  have  a  good  long 
chat/ 

Offering  my  arm,  we  strolled  off  into  some  adjoining  rooms 
on  the  same  floor  with  the  library  we  had  left  They  were  em 
bellished  with  the  same  splendour  and  taste. 

'  I  am  sorry,'  began  the  Countess, '  that  you  are  going  away 
so  soon.  I  should  have  liked  to  see  more  of  you.' 

'  I  shall  certainly  return  at  no  distant  day,  and  all  the  sooner 
for  my  good  luck  in  meeting  you.' 

'  That  is  very  gallant,'  she  replied  ;  *  but  as  I  live  in  Paris,  I 
shall  not  see  you  any  the  oftener.' 

'  So  shall  I  on  my  return,  as  I  mean  to  resign  my  connection 
with  our  Legation,  having  seen  enough  of  London  for  the  pre 
sent.  Have  you  abandoned  Italy  ?'  I  inquired. 

'  Yes,'  she  answered,  with  a  sigh  ;  *  and  probably  for  ever.  It 
has  lost  all  its  charm  since — ' 

She  stopped  abruptly,  and  her  cheek  reddened. 

Not  affecting  to  notice  this,  I  asked, 

*  Are  you  contented  with  Paris  ?' 

1  Yes,  as  contented  as  I  should  be  anywhere.  Paris  is  very 
gay,  and  I  have  many  friends.  I  pass  the  winter  there,  and 
travel  about  in  summer.  But  tell  me,  how  do  you  like  Lady 
Blessington?' 

*  Perfectly  enchanted,'  I  answered.     '  So  much  handsomer 
than  I  expected.      Her  face  is  as  fresh  and  her  eye  as  bright 
as  though  she  was  twenty  years  younger.     Though  not  want 
ing  in  vivacity,  I   am    especially  struck  by  her   elegance   and 
repose.' 

'  She  is  a  very  good-hearted  woman,'  remarked  the  Countess, 
*  which  is  better  than  all  the  rest.' 

'  Pray  tell  me,'  I  queried, '  about  the  marriage  of  Lord  Bless- 
ington's  daughter  with  Count  D'Orsay.  What  was  the  cause  of 
so  early  a  rupture  ?' 

*  Simply/  she  responded,  '  that  they  never  cared  for  each 
other.     Lord  B.  was  so  fond  of  D'Orsay  he  wanted  to  keep  him 
in  his  family,  and  he  urged  him  into  a  marriage  with  Lady  Har 
riet,  a  lovely  girl,  who  reluctantly  yielded  to  her  father's  wishes. 
Indifference  by  degrees  grew  into  dislike,  and  it  was  a  relief  to 
both  to  separate.      Voild  tout' 

FF 


434  London  Revisited. 


( I  have  heard  endless  gossip  about  it,'  I  continued, '  and  some 
ill-natured  people  say  the  Count  cared  more  for  Lady  Blessing- 
ton  than  he  ever  did  for  her  step-daughter,  which  was  the  chief 
reason  he  forsook  his  wife.' 

'  Yes,'  said  the  Countess,  '  I  know  the  scandalmongers  have 
been  busy  with  the  topic.  Doubtless  there  is  a  great  attachment 
between  Lady  B.  and  the  Count  ;  and  who  can  wonder,  after  their 
long  acquaintance  and  mutual  attractions  ?  I  am  sure  their  rela 
tions  are  perfectly  innocent ;  but  in  this  land  of  prudery  it  would 
be  difficult  to  escape  aspersion.  The  Count  adores  London,  and 
Gore  House  is  his  throne.  To  ask  him  to  abdicate  merely  to 
extinguish  cancan  would  be  exacting  too  much  of  a  Frenchman, 
who  usually  likes  it.  At  all  events,  this  superb  house  is  the 
head-quarters  of  the  rank  and  intellect  of  the  town,  and  Lady  B. 
finds  many  compensations  for  the  lukewarmness  of  her  own  sex. 
It  is  painful  to  be  the  butt  of  censorious  comment,  but  the  victims 
of  untoward  circumstances  have  no  choice  but  to  accept  their  fate,, 
and  bear  their  load  without  repining  or  anger.'  ,  ;>  ,\ 

The  voice  of  the  Countess  trembled  as  she  uttered  these 
words,  and  she  dropped  her  handkerchief  to  divert  my  gaze  from 
her  face. 

1  Come,'  she  said,  jumping  up,  '  let  us  look  at  some  of  these 
admirable  pictures.  That  portrait  of  Lady  Blessington  is  by  Sir 
Thomas  Lawrence,  and  is  beyond  praise.  This  picture  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  is  by  Count  D'Orsay.  What  do  you  think 
of  it?' 

'  Inimitable  for  resemblance,  character,  and  colour.  I  did  not 
dream  he  was  so  skilful  an  artist.' 

•*  It  is  a  great  loss  to  art,'  said  the  Countess,  *  that  he  is  not 
driven  to  it  for  a  living.  The  Count  is  too  fond  of  society,  and 
wastes  his  time.  A  few  years  ago,  for  mere  amusement,  he  be 
gan  sketching  his  friends  in  crayon,  and  the  likenesses  were  so 
remarkable  that  not  a  few  found  their  way  to  the  shop-windows. 
At  last  he  began  painting,  and  here  is  one  of  his  first  martyrs/ 
pointing  to  a  portrait  of  Lord  Brougham. 

'  How  lifelike  !'  I  exclaimed  ;  f  it  is  the  man  himself.  What 
wonderful  expression  !' 

'  That  is  his  especial  excellence.  But  he  is  no  less  dexterous 
in  sculpture.  Come  into  the  boudoir,  and  look  at  his  statuettes 
of  Napoleon  and  Wellington  on  horseback.  There  !  what  do  you 
think  of  them  ?' 


London  Revisited.  435 


'  More  astonished  than  ever/  I  declared  earnestly,  as  I  con 
templated  these  remarkable  works. 

'  The  Duke  was  so  struck  by  their  beauty,'  said  the  Countess, 
'  that  he  had  them  cast  in  silver,  and  always  ornaments  his  table 
with  them  at  grand  dinners.' 

'  In  truth/  I  ejaculated, '  Count  D'Orsay  must  be  a  man  of 
genius.' 

'  He  is  unquestionably/  continued  the  Countess.  '  He  excels 
in  all  minor  accomplishments,  and  you  see  what  he  can  do  in 
art.  He  is  well  read  besides,  and  never  speaks  without  saying 
something  striking  or  witty.  He  must  write  well  too,  for  Lord 
Byron  praised  some  of  his  early  compositions.  It  is  a  pity  that 
a  man  so  gifted  should  be  content  with  a  mere  life  of  fashion. 
He  might,  if  so  disposed,  bequeath  a  lasting  reputation,  instead 
of  going  down  to  posterity  as  simply  a  rot  de  salon' 

'  He  is  the  nearest  approach  to  the  famous  "  Admirable 
Crichton"  I  ever  heard  of/  I  asserted.  '  How  I  should  like  to 
know  him  !' 

'  Nothing  easier/  she  said.  '  He  must  be  here  by  this  time, 
Let  us  return  to  the  library,  and  I  will  present  you/ 

We  did  so,  when  she  exclaimed, 

1  Yes,  there  he  is  !' 

The  person  designated  was,  beyond  doubt,  the  handsomest 
man  I  ever  saw.  Over  six  feet  in  height,  a  model  in  form,  his 
forehead  covered  with  dark  curly  hair,  large  hazel  eyes,  small  fea 
tures,  a  finely  shaped  but  rather  voluptuous  mouth,  small  hands 
and  feet,  an  amiable  countenance  radiant  with  intelligence,  grace 
ful,  animated,  and  with  an  air  quite  regal,  he  impressed  me  at 
once  as  '  a  noble  of  Nature's  own  creating.' 

The  Countess  perceived  my  undissembled  admiration,  and 
said, 

'  Come,  let  us  have  a  parley  with  the  Count/ 

He  received  me  with  that  bonhomie  which  characterised  him. 

'  I  have  already  heard  of  you/  he  remarked,  '  from  la  belle  et 
bonne  Guiccioli,  and  am  very  pleased  to  know  you.' 

He  spoke  English  with  facility,  but  with  a  French  intona 
tion.  As  we  talked  I  was  struck  by  the  originality  of  his  mind, 
and  his  terse  and  epigrammatic  phrases. 

He  had  the  faculty  of  giving  interest  and  point  to  the  merest 
trifles,  and  when  he  rose  to  serious  subjects  the  breadth  and  force 
of  his  views  were  surprising. 


436  London  Revisited. 


In  bidding  Lady  Blessington  good-night,  I  thanked  her  for 
one  of  the  most  delightful  evenings  I  had  passed  in  London. 

'  I  am  sorry/  she  said, '  that  so  many  of  my  friends  have  left 
town  ;  but  there  are  still  a  few  laggards,  and  if  you  can  come  I 
will  invite  some  of  them  to  meet  you  at  dinner.' 

I  acknowledged  her  kindness  in  most  grateful  terms. 

'  I  will  write  to  you  in  a  day  or  two,'  she  promised,  as  I  took 
her  hand  in  parting. 


CHAPTER   XLIV. 
LONDON  REVISITED  (continued}. 

LAWN  VILLA — AN   ANCIENT   CORPORATION — A   MEMORABLE   DINNER. 

THE  following  morning  I  received  an  invitation  from  Dr. 
Lardner  to  dine  with  him  at  Lawn  Villa,  Shepherd's  Bush,  in 
the  outskirts  of  London.  I  found  his  residence  very  charming, 
with  the  grounds  admirably  laid  out.  Among  the  guests  I  was 
gratified  to  recognise  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  whose  society 
proved  more  and  more  attractive.  Her  somewhat  masculine 
understanding  was  tempered  by  a  manner  sweetly  feminine  and 
a  smile  quite  irresistible.  I  felt  no  doubt  of  the  glowing  passion 
she  awakened  in  Byron,  and  then  she  was  some  fifteen  years 
younger  and  lovelier. 

Another  lady  at  the  table  interested  me  not  a  little.  It  was 
Mrs.  Shelley,  the  wife  of  the  ill-fated  poet  who  perished  in  a  gale 
off  Spezzia,  and  whose  remains  were  cremated  in  the  presence 
of  Byron  and  Trelawney.  The  brilliant  writer  was  not  then 
thirty,  and  had  already  achieved  an  enduring  reputation.  His 
widow,  now  not  forty,  was  the  daughter  of  Godwin,  the  author 
of  "  Caleb  Williams."  She  justified  her  descent  and  her  alliance 
by  the  revelation  of  talents  that  had  given  her  high  rank  in  the 
world  of  letters.  Of  all  her  books,  that  thrilling  romance  of 
"  Frankenstein"  will  likely  be  remembered  the  longest.  She  was 
a  tall,  pale  woman,  of  handsome  face  and  person,  stately  and 
reserved  in  tone,  and  I  thought  somewhat  haughty.  Our  host 
was  the  life  of  the  occasion.  He  talked  with  animation,  and  was 
entertaining  without  being  actually  amusing.  He  was  rather  hard 
and  positive  in  manner,  like  a  rigid  mathematician ;  but  he  had 
the  genial  Irish  temperament,  with  all  its  readiness  and  vivacity. 
He  was  only  forty-four,  yet  he  wore  a  brown  wig  that  fitted  him 
to  a  nicety,  and  a  dainty  pair  of  spectacles.  His  face  was  fresh 
and  comely,  and  his  person  quite  pleasing.  He  was  said  to  be 
a  favorite  with  women,  to  whom  he  was  always  assiduous. 

Another  conspicuous  person  present  was  Albany  Fonblanque, 


438  London  Revisited. 


the  renowned  journalist.  He  was  not  a  talker  in  the  ordinary 
sense.  Rather  a  quiet  man,  but  it  was  the  quiet  of  gunpowder. 
Every  now  and  then  he  exploded  in  a  flashing  remark  that 
startled  the  company.  Though  remarkable  for  learning,  deep 
thoughts  and  felicity  of  illustration  that  seemed  exhaustless,  he 
was  especially  noted  for  his  satirical  wit  that  gave  piquancy  to 
everything  he  wrote  or  said.  His  brilliant  political  articles  were 
devoured  with  avidity  by  all  classes,  and  he  was  ever  a  welcome 
guest  in  the  aristocratic  saloons  of  the  Whig  party. 

I  was  glad  before  leaving  London  to  dine  with  the  Lord 
Mayor,  as  this  afforded  me  an  opportunity  to  inspect  his  official 
residence,  known  as  the  Mansion  House.  It  is  about  a  hundred 
years  old,  and  contains  many  handsome  reception  saloons,  and 
a  banqueting-room  for  public  occasions,  styled  the  Egyptian 
Hall,  of  imposing  extent.  This  residence,  with  furniture,  equip 
ages,  and  40,000  dollars  a  year,  is  bestowed  on  the  chief  magis 
trate  of  the  city  for  his  year  of  office.  The  municipal  govern 
ment  of  London  is  a  perplexity  for  foreigners,  and  it  required 
some  study  to  fathom  it. 

The  Lord  Mayor,  with  his  Court  of  Aldermen  and  Common 
Council,  presides  over  the  old  City  of  London,  whose  area  con 
stitutes  but  a  small  part  of  what  is  known  as  London.  Within 
these  city  limits,  covering  about  six  hundred  acres,  the  corpora 
tion  in  question  is  sovereign.  Its  jurisdiction  ends  at  its  ancient 
boundaries,  once  in  part  surrounded  by  a  wall.  This  is  the  old 
est  municipal  body  in  the  world.  Its  charter  was  granted  in 
noi,  and  the  first  Mayor  was  appointed  in  1189.  The  Guild 
hall,  or  town  hall,  was  built  in  141 1  ;  and  the  first  official  dinner 
given  there  by  the  Lord  Mayor  was  in  1502,  and  these  banquets 
have  been  repeated  annually  ever  since.  These  dates  are 
astounding  to  an  American. 

All  round  the  ancient  city,  but  especially  to  the  east  and 
west,  have  grown  up  in  the  course  of  centuries  vast  districts  with 
which  the  old  corporation  has  nothing  to  do.  They  are  divided 
into  parochial  zones,  and  are  governed  by  vestrymen  elected  by 
the  inhabitants  of  each  p'arish,  and  whose  duties  are  to  provide 
for  the  lighting,  paving,  and  sewage  of  their  respective  parishes, 
and  to  assess  the  rates  necessary  for  this  expenditure.  These 
parishes  differ  widely  in  size  and  expenditure.  At  the  West- 
end,  or  fashionable  part  of  the  metropolis,  the  rates  are  higher 
than  at  the  East-end,  occupied  by  the  lower  classes.  In  1829,. 


London  Revisited.  439 


Parliament  established  a  police  force  for  the  metropolis  outside 
of  the  ancient  City,  which  has  its  own  police.  The  expediency 
of  doing  away  with  the  old  Corporation  of  the  City,  as  well 
as  parish  government,  has  been  mooted  often  in  Parliament; 
but  the  outcry  against  touching  that  venerable  organisation  has 
always  been  so  loud  that  the  Imperial  Legislature  has  shrunk 
from  the  task.  So  for  the  present  the  Lord  Mayor,  with  his 
gilded  coaches  and  mace-bearer,  is  safe  within  the  charmed 
precincts  of  the  City,  as  well  as  parish  government  without. 
The  time,  however,  will  probably  come  when  this  mammoth 
London  will  pass  under  a  government  more  simple  and  uniform 
than  its  old-fashioned  machinery,  which  nevertheless  does  its 
work  well.* 

On  my  last  night  in  London  I  dined  at  Gore  House,  and  was 
delighted  beyond  measure  to  meet  the  most  remarkable  man  of 
the  day — Lord  Brougham.  Among  the  other  guests  were  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  Count  D'Orsay,  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield,  Mr. 
Planche  the  dramatist,  and  Mr.  Madden  the  author.  The  tall 
and  slender  form  of  Lord  Brougham  I  had  often  seen  in  public, 
and  a  thousand  sketches  had  made  me  familiar  with  his  striking 
countenance.  It  was  a  new  sensation  to  find  myself  in  his  so 
ciety,  to  hear  his  ringing  voice,  witness  his  animated  gestures, 
and  enjoy  the  variety  and  brilliancy  of  his  unrivalled  conver 
sation.  Lady  Blessington  handled  him  with  rare  dexterity,  and 
suggested  topics  she  knew  would  stimulate  him  to  the  utmost. 
He  talked  with  a  volubility  I  never  heard  equalled  ;  and  such 
talk  !  What  variety,  force,  glitter,  mingled  with  sarcasm  and  wit ! 
It  seemed  as  though  he  must  give  vent  to  his  thoughts,  always 
bubbling  up,  or  suffocate.  It  was  said  he  had  more  knowledge 
than  any  man  living,  and  I  could  well  believe  it  ;  but  on  this 
occasion  his  purpose  was  not  so  much  to  enlighten  as  to  amuse. 
He  indulged  in  racy  stinging  comments  on  the  men  and  things 
of  the  time,  and  he  appeared  to  revel  in  the  fun.  I  had  seen  him 
in  the  House  of  Lords  the  graceful,  dignified,  impassioned  orator  ; 
but  this  was  a  new  phase  of  his  character  I  was  not  prepared  for. 

*  The  records  of  the  old  City  contain  many  curious  facts  that  will  be  read 
with  lively  interest.  I  will  quote  only  a  sample  :  In  1582  water  was  brought  from 
the  Thames  to  private  houses  in  leaden  pipes.  In  1603  James  I.  issued  a  procla 
mation  against  'the  multitude  of  dwellers  in  and  about  London,'  never  dreaming  it 
would  one  day  reach  four  millions.  In  1681  a  penny  post  wa >  established  by  private 
enterprise.  In  1740  the  first  circulating  library  was  organised.  In  1764  the  houses 
were  first  numbered. 


44°  London  Revisited. 


What  astonished  me  most  of  all  was  the  irrepressible  vitality 
which  demanded  incessant  outlet.  His  brain  seemed  not  to 
require  an  instant's  rest.  It  flew  from  Dan  to  Beersheba,  not 
ing  and  discussing  everything  on  the  way.  His  body  was  as 
active  as  the  mind,  and  was  in  ceaseless  movement.  The  eyes 
constantly  changed  expression,  the  nose  had  a  nervous  twitch, 
the  arms  incessantly  gesticulated.  No  part  of  him  was  for  a 
moment  in  repose.  I  fancied  that  some  day  the  volcanic  forces 
within  would  scatter  him  in  a  thousand  fragments.  He  was 
fond  of  relating  anecdotes,  which  he  did  with  telling  effect. 
During  the  dinner  remarks  were  made  by  some,  but  no  one 
talked  but  Lord  Brougham.  All  were  content  to  listen  to  him. 
His  control  over  language  was  something  marvellous,  and  he 
used  words  as  a  skilful  painter  does  colours,  to  give  the  exact 
tint  to  all  he  said.  He  rarely  employed  '  words  of  learned  length 
and  thundering  sound.'  The  dessert  was  no  sooner  on  the  table 
than  he  rose,  reminding  his  hostess  that  he  had  warned  her  of 
numerous  engagements  that  would  prevent  him  staying  longer ; 
and  she  cordially  thanked  him  for  having  come  at  all  under  the 
circumstances.  He  shook  hands  with  me  on  leaving,  and  hoped 
to  see  me  when  I  returned  to  England.  I  asked  him  if  he  never 
intended  visiting  the  States,  and  assured  him  that  his  welcome 
there  would  reverberate  over  England. 

'Nothing  would  afford  me  greater  pleasure,'  he  replied.  '  It 
has  always  been  my  wish  ;  but  my  horror  of  slavery  is  so  great 
that  some  expression  of  it  would  be  sure  to  escape  me,  and  I 
should  get  into  trouble.  No,  I  must  wait  till  that  blot  on  your 
escutcheon  is  rubbed  out.' 

Every  eye  followed  him  as  he  disappeared,  and  with  the  sud 
den  extinction  of  this  great  luminary  all  fell  for  a  moment  under 
an  eclipse.  Everyone  had  some  anecdote  of  him  to  relate.  Lady  B. 
said  after  he  became  Lord  Chancellor  the  first  thing  he  did  was 
to  hasten  to  Brougham  Hall,  in  the  north  of  England,  to  tell 
his  aged  mother  of  his  elevation,  and  to  ask  her  blessing.  She 
took  him  in  her  arms,  and  said,  '  I  would  rather  have  embraced 
the  member  for  Yorkshire  ;  but  as  it  is,  God  bless  you.'  It  was 
thought  the  shrewd  old  lady  feared  he  would  be  less  powerful  in 
the  House  of  Lords  than  in  the  Commons. 

Mr.  Madden  was^very  familiar  with  his  extraordinary  career, 
and  stated  that  the  first  bent  of  his  mind  was  towards  mathe 
matics  and  natural  science ;  that  at  eighteen  he  wrote  an  essay 


London  Revisited.  441 


on  the  '  Refraction  of  Light/  which  attracted  attention  in  the 
scientific  world,  and  followed  it  up  by  other  essays  of  still  greater 
merit ;  that  he  was  only  twenty-four  when,  with  Jeffrey,  he 
founded  the  Edinburgh  Review^  for  which  he  had  written  whole 
volumes.  On  one  occasion  he  had  composed  the  entire  number, 
containing  a  surgical  article  among  the  rest.  He  wrote  the 
stinging  criticism  on  Byron's  juvenile  poems,  which  the  irate 
bard  answered  with  '  English  Bards  and  Scotch  Reviewers.'  '  As 
to  his  speeches  in  Parliament,'  continued  Mr.  M.,  *  they  have 
rarely  been  equalled  by  the  greatest  orators.  He  spoke  for  four 
hours  on  the  Reform  Bill  in  the  House  of  Lords  in  1831  ;  and 
Lord  Campbell,  who  was  present,  says,  "  He  showed  a  most 
stupendous  memory  an'd  extraordinary  dexterity  in  handling 
the  weapons  both  of  ridicule  and  reason.  Without  a  note  to 
refer  to,  he  went  through  all  the  speeches  of  his  opponents  dur 
ing  the  five  nights  of  debate,  analysing  them  successively,  and 
giving  them  all  a  triumphant  answer."  His  efforts  on  behalf  of 
political  reform,'  added  Mr.  M.,  '  were  prodigious,  but  as  nothing 
compared  to  his  exertions  for  law  reform,  popular  education, 
abolition  of  slavery,  and  Catholic  Emancipation.  He  has 
assailed  with  impetuosity  every  kind  of  venerable  abuse,  and 
has  done  more  to  revolutionise  the  England  of  the  past  than  any 
hundred  men  have  done.  His  amazing  knowledge,  energy,  and 
eloquence  especially  fitted  him  for  the  herculean  task.  Here 
after  it  will  be  seen  what  a  giant  he  was.  We  are  too  near  him 
now  to  appreciate  his  colossal  powers/ 

'  That  is  all  very  true/  said  Mr.  Planche*,  with  his  pleasant 
chuckle, '  but  I  wonder  he  is  not  pursued  by  the  ghosts  of  the 
old  "  rotten  boroughs,"  denouncing  him  as  a  false,  fleeting,  per 
jured  Clarence.' 

*  And  why  ?'  demanded  the  company. 

*  Because  he  owed  his  admission  to  Parliament  to  a  "  rotten 
borough,"  given  him  by  the  Duke   of  Cleveland  ;  and  after  a 
dissolution  he  remained  four  years  without  a  seat,  till  the  Duke 
gave  him  another  "  rotten  borough,"  which  he  represented  for 
fifteen  years.     He  might  never  have  got  into  the  Commons  at 
all  but  for  the  "  rotten  boroughs"  he  annihilated — naughty  man  !' 

Whilst  the  conversation  continued  I  had  an  opportunity  to 
glance  around  the  dining-room,  which  was  of  octagonal  shape, 
well  proportioned,  and  adorned  with  numerous  portraits.  Two 
of  them  were  by  Count  D'Orsay — one  of  Byron,  very  striking  : 


442  London  Revisited. 


the  skin  was  so  transparently  white  that  the  blue  veins  shone 
through,  which  was  attributed  to  the  poet  having  abandoned 
the  use  of  meat  when  it  was  painted  ;  the  other  of  Napoleon, 
whose  expression  was  mild  ;  but  the  eyes  had  an  introverted  look 
really  remarkable.  The  noble  artist  had  painted  them  over 
and  over  again,  till  Landseer  at  last  remonstrated  at  his  ex 
cessive  fastidiousness. 

On  returning  to  the  drawing-room  we  had  music  and  anec 
dotes.  The  Countess  Guiccioli  sang  delightfully,  and  Mr.  Planch^ 
overflowed  with  a  budget  of  good  stories. 

One  or  two  I  remember.  He  related  that  a  rich  old  bachelor, 
whom  he  named,  had  a  box  at  the  Opera,  which  he  regularly 
occupied.  One  night  he  asked  the  box-keeper  the  name  of  a 
beautiful  woman  who  had  a  box  on  the  opposite  side,  which  he 
indicated.  The  box-keeper  carelessly  gave  the  name  of  a  lady 
in  the  box  adjoining  the  beauty  referred  to.  Great  was  the  sur 
prise,  a  few  years  afterwards,  of  Lady  Florence to  find  her 
self  the  heiress  of  a  large  property,  bequeathed  by  the  amorous 
old  gentleman  in  question,  which  was  intended  for  the  occupant 
of  another  box. 

He  then  went  on  to  say  that  a  similar  incident  occurred  with 
reference  to  a  pretty  ballet-girl  at  Covent  Garden  Theatre.  An 
eccentric  person  he  mentioned  left  a  large  sum  to  Miss  Lee, 
meaning  the  danseuse  he  was  known  to  admire  ;  but  another 
Miss  Lee  of  the  same  theatre  laid  claim  to  it,  and  got  it,  on  the 
ground  that  she  was  permanently  connected  with  the  establish 
ment. 

Another  laughable  anecdote  was  told  by  a  nephew  of  the 
Duke  of  Wellington  who  was  present.  He  said  he  was  staying 
at  Stratfieldsaye,  the  Duke's  country  seat,  where  a  numerous 
company  was  assembled,  and  the  Rev.  G.  W.,  one  of  the  party, 
asked  them  to  come  down  to  his  Sunday-school  in  a  village  on 
the  property,  where  the  annual  examination  was  to  take  place. 
They  were  all  present,  and  after  sundry  questions  had  been  put 
and  bungled  over  by  the  frightened  bumpkins,  the  reverend  gentle 
man,  in  a  grave  tone,  asked  :  '  What  solemn  event  had  once 
occurred  on  the  25th  of  December?'  One  of  the  boys  immedi 
ately  cried  out,  c  The  battle  of  Waterloo  !'  and  the  whole  batch 
at  once  began  shouting,  '  Hurrah  !  hurrah  !'  As  soon  as  he  could 
quiet  them  the  irritated  parson  exclaimed,  *  No,  no,  you  stupid 
fellows  !  I  meant  who  was  born  on  the  25th  of  December  ?' 


London  Revisited.  443 


*  The  Duke  of  Wellington !'  shouted  another ;  and  again  the 
welkin  rang  with  hurrahs  ;  and  the  company,  in  convulsions  of 
laughter,  hurried  away  forthwith. 

Lady  Blessington,  in  her  splendid  dinner  toilette,  looked 
really  superb.  Her  snowy-white  shoulders,  with  such  a  graceful 
fall  and  lovely  bust,  must  have  been  the  admiration  of  all. 
Her  coiffure  was  the  same  that  Challon  has  immortalised  in  his 
famous  portrait,  consisting  of  a  species  of  cap,  with  a  band  of 
lace  crossing  the  forehead,  with  lappets  drawn  down  close  to  the 
cheeks  and  fastened  under  the  chin.  It  was  most  artistically 
planned  to  reveal  the  beauty  of  her  fine  brow  and  the  perfect 
oval  of  her  face.  I  was  profuse  in  my  thanks  to  her  ladyship 
for  her  flattering  hospitality,  and  the  inestimable  honour  of  the 
acquaintances  she  had  given  me. 

I  felt  something  more  than  regret  at  parting  with  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  to  whom  I  had  grown  much  attached  even 
in  the  short  time  I  had  known  her.  She  was  good  enough  to 
say  again  she  was  loth  to  lose  sight  of  me  so  soon,  but  counted 
on  renewing  my  acquaintance  on  my  return.  As  I  kissed  her 
hand  quite  fervently  for  the  last  time,  I  repeated  some  lines  of 
Byron  that  I  was  sure  would  be  familiar  to  her : 

1  Farewell !    If  ever  fondest  prayer 

For  others'  weal  availed  on  high, 
Mine  will  not  all  be  lost  in  air, 

But  waft  thy  name  beyond  the  sky.' 

It  was  plain  she  recognised  them,  for  a  sad  expression  overspread 
her  face.  But  in  a  moment  she  threw  it  off,  and,  smiling,  said, 
lAu  revoir,  a  Paris'  She  turned  away;  and  in  a  few  minutes  I 
was  on  the  road  to  my  residence,  quite  absorbed  in  the  pleasing 
recollections  of  the  night — one  not  soon  to  be  forgotten. 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

RETURN  TO  PHILADELPHIA. 

J.  S.  BUCKINGHAM — CONTRASTS  AND  COMPARISONS — FORREST'S  RECEPTION 

AT  HOME. 

I  TOOK  the  morning  coach  for  Portsmouth  on  September  2othr 
to  embark  in  the  ship  '  President'  for  New  York.  I  roamed 
over  the  town  and  its  famous  dockyards  full  two  days  before 
our  ship  arrived  from  London,  and  I  rejoiced  at  having  escaped 
this  much  of  the  ordeal  that  awaited  me.  I  hurried  on  board,, 
and  was  soon  under  full  sail  with  a  rattling  breeze  and  the 
compass  pointing  due  west.  The  passengers  were,  happily,  few, 
and  rather  a  commonplace  lot.  I  discovered,  however,  one 
exception,  and  looked  forward  to  many  pleasant  hours  in  the 
society  of  J.  Silk  Buckingham,  late  a  prominent  member  of  Par 
liament  for  Sheffield.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man  of  fifty  and 
upwards,  his  'countenance  mild  and  genial ;  but  his  clear  blue 
eyes  gave  token  of  a  restless  spirit,  that  his  career  fully  justified. 
Some  twenty  years  previously  he  had  been  the  proprietor  of 
a  flourishng  paper  in  Calcutta,  and  was  accumulating  money  and 
fame  ;  but  he  had  an  unfortunate  knack  of '  prying  into  abuses/ 
and  made  frequent  war  on  the  doubtful  doings  of  the  East  India 
Company,  whose  power  was  then  absolute.  He  was  warned 
more  than  once  that  he  would  be  sent  about  his  business  ;  but 
he  snapped  his  fingers  at  threats,  and  cracked  his  critical  whip 
louder  than  ever.  He  rose  one  morning  to  find  his  journal 
suppressed,  and  himself  ordered  forthwith  to  take  up  his  bed  and 
walk.  He  was  then  inclined  to  parley,  and  promised  better 
behaviour  ;  but  the  only  reply  was,  '  Avaunt,  and  quit  my  sight  P 
for  in  those  days  the  East  India  Company  gave  short  shrive  to 
offenders.  He  was  obliged  to  sail  for  England,  without  time  to 
sell  his  paper — a  splendid  property,  which  collapsed,  to  nearly 
his  utter  ruin.  He  resolved  on  vengeance,  and  no  sooner  did 
he  land  in  England  than  he  organised  a  crusade  against  his 
enemy.  He  travelled  from  town  to  town  through  the  country, 
launching  the  thunderbolts  of  his  eloquence  against  the  tyranny 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  445 

of  the  East  India  Company.  So  powerful  was  his  array  of  facts 
that  he  stirred  up  an  agitation  that  threatened  its  existence. 
He  was  elected  for  Sheffield  in  the  reformed  Parliament  of  1832, 
and  never  lost  an  opportunity  to  inflict  a  blow  on  the  head  of 
his  relentless  foe.  Satisfied  at  last  that  his  purpose  was  achieved, 
he  resigned  his  seat,  and,  with  unabated  energy,  set  about  a  new 
enterprise.  His  purpose  now  was  to  make  a  tour  of  the  world, 
and  publish  a  book  of  travels.  He  was  accompanied  by  his  wife, 
an  amiable  and  refined  woman,  and  their  only  child,  a  fine  lad  of 
fifteen,  whose  culture  was  far  beyond  his  years.  As  we  made 
our  way  down  the  Channel  he  penned  some  pretty  verses,  bidding 
farewell  to  his  native  land,  which,  for  grace  and  finish,  would  have 
done  honour  to  many  a  famous  poet. 

During  our  weary  voyage  Mr.  Buckingham  often  entertained 
me  with  curious  stories  of  Eastern  life,  from  which  I  gleaned  a 
deal  of  information.  Some  of  his  adventures  in  that  part  of  the 
world  were  actually  startling.  •  I  quote  one  among  many  that 
impressed  me  strongly. 

He  stated  that  many  districts  of  India  were  infested  by 
tigers,  and  though  a  reward  was  given  for  their  destruction,  they 
continued  very  numerous,  and  prowled  about  the  villages  seek 
ing  for  a  victim.  He  was  on  a  visit  *  up  country,'  he  related, 
and  one  evening,  about  dusk,  was  returning  home  in  a  palanquin 
from  making  a  call  in  the  neighbourhood,  when  suddenly  the 
native  servants  put  down  their  burden  abruptly,  and,  yelling,  took 
to  their  heels.  Wondering  at  the  cause  of  their  alarm,  he  was 
about  opening  the  door  to  look  out,  when  the  roar  of  a  tiger 
filled  him  with  terror.  In  another  moment  the  palanquin  was 
thrown  on  the  ground,  and  the  savage  beast  began  pushing  it 
over  and  over  with  his  nose,  growling  fiercely  all  the  time. 
Every  moment  he  dreaded  would  be  his  last,  as  one  blow  of  the 
tiger's  paw  would  have  shattered  the  frail  carriage.  After  smelling 
about  for  some  minutes,  the  baffled  animal,  with  a  loud  cry,  ran 
off ;  a  short  time  after,  the  natives  returned  with  guns,  and  to 
his  infinite  joy  he  was  picked  up,  and  carried  to  the  house.  This 
incident  so  terrified  him  that  he  hurried  back  to  Calcutta,  and 
made  no  more  jaunts  '  up  country/ 

All  that  I  had  dreaded  in  the  way  of  head-winds  and  ennui 
was  more  than  realised  in  that  tedious  voyage.  We  were  buf 
feted  about  for  weeks  by  contrary  gales,  till  my  patience  was 
utterly  exhausted,  and  I  registered  a  solemn  *  So  help  me'  that 


446  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

never  again  would  I  trust  myself  to  the  caprice  of  the  weather  at 
sea.  At  length,  after  moaning  and  groaning,  and  I  believe  a  little 
swearing,  we  reached  Sandy  Hook,  making  the  transit  in  thirty- 
five  days  ;  and  nothing  else,  I  believe,  than  the  Bay  of  New 
York — quite  equal  to  that  of  Naples  or  Constantinople — could 
have  restored  me  to  my  wonted  serenity.  Taking  a  hurried  fare 
well  of  my  fellow-passengers,  I  made  my  way  to  Philadelphia, 
eager  to  greet  my  relatives  and  friends  after  so  long  an  absence. 
This  over,  I  began  to  look  curiously  about,  and  to  analyse  the 
effect  of  my  old  home  upon  me  after  three  years  of  absence, 
crowded  with  impressions  so  varied  and  wonderful  that  I  felt 
my  travelled  vision  would  likely  regard  objects  and  people  in  a 
different,  perhaps  more  unfavourable,  light.  The  first  thing  that 
struck,  and  rather  shocked,  me  was  the  newness  of  the  town. 
It  looked  as  if  built  yesterday,  so  fresh  and  recent  was  its  aspect. 
My  nose  turned  up  involuntarily  at  the  State  House  I  once 
venerated  as  a  relic.  Even  an  old  wooden  tenement  in  Second- 
street,  reared  before  the  Revolution,  that  I  formerly  gazed  on 
with  reverence,  I  glanced  at  with  something  not  unlike  con 
tempt.  This  came  of  my  having  contemplated  the  Coliseum, 
to  say  nothing  of  Pompeii,  which  for  antiquity  not  only  dwarfed 
our  Revolution,  but  made  America  herself  seem  a  very  modern 
discovery. 

After  recovering  from  this  disenchantment,  I  next  turned  my 
attention  to  the  people  themselves,  and  soon  observed  there  was 
no  occasion  for  derogatory  comparison.  In  various  respects 
they  seemed  unlike  the  denizens  of  any  country  I  had  visited. 
They  certainly  cared  less  for  music  than  the  Italians,  less  for  art 
than  the  French,  and  less  for  horseflesh  than  the  English,  but 
had  especial  characteristics  of  their  own.  The  quick  intelli 
gence,  extreme  energy,  and  self-reliance  that  pervaded  all  classes 
distinguished  them,  I  thought,  from  any  other  nation.  There 
was  another  trait  as  deeply  marked — a  calm,  exact,  unsenti 
mental  way  of  judging  of  men  and  things.  They  were  singularly 
observant,  too  ;  shrewd,  and  even  suspicious  ;  not  easily  played 
upon  or  hoodwinked.  The  road  to  their  convictions  lay  through 
their  reason.  They  were  difficult  of  access  through  their  feel 
ings  or  imagination.  Not  that  they  were  deficient  in  either,  but 
the  portals  to  both  were  jealously  guarded,  and  nothing  passed 
that  was  not  genuine.  Mere  f  buncombe'  had  no  chance  at  all. 
Though  earnest,  grave,  and  laborious,  yet  there  was  a  vein  of 


Ret^lrn  to  Philadelphia.  447 

humour  at  bottom  :  not  one  of  them  but  would  suspend  business 
a  moment  to  hear  a  joke,  which  was  wholly  unlike  any  other 
country's  jokes.  It  was  something  original,  exaggerated,  gro 
tesque,  bordering  on  caricature,  flavoured  with  the  ridiculous  ; 
in  short,  something  so  opposite  to  their  own  conformation  as 
to  make  it  ludicrous.  A  smile  oftener  than  a  laugh  was  the 
acknowledgment,  and  then  work  was  resumed  ;  and  how  they 
worked !  Every  man  seemed  to  have  a  mission — wealth  first, 
enjoyment  afterwards.  There  was  no  such  thing  as  the  leisure 
class  of  Europe — no  idlers  or  loungers.  They  impressed  me  as 
very  decorous  and  well  conducted,  capable  of  governing  them 
selves.  What  a  contrast  to  foreign  lands,  with  their  parapher 
nalia  of  soldiery,  gendarmes,  and  police  !  I  missed  the  glare  of 
ribbons  and  stars,  and  the  pompous  announcement  of  titles. 
The  distinguished  bore  no  external  signs  of  intellectual  or  social 
superiority.  Respect  was  paid  to  both,  but  a  jealous  republi 
canism  protested  against  gold  embroidery  for  one  or  coats  of 
arms  for  the  other. 

Nothing  surprised  and  delighted  me  more  than  the  universal 
deference  paid  at  that  day  to  the  women  of  all  classes  and  con 
ditions.  Nothing  like  it  existed  in  Europe.  In  France  there 
was  more  flourish  of  the  hat,  but  nowhere  such  genuine  homage, 
such  refined  consideration  to  the  fair  sex,  as  were  then  prevalent 
all  over  the  States,  and  which  I  felt  indicated  a  high  civilisation. 

I  was  proud  to  remark  that  in  form  and  feature  American 
beauty  suffered  no  detriment  from  the  rivalry  of  any  country. 
With  less  '  plumptitude'  than  the  English,  less  conventional  ease 
than  the  French,  it  was  unaffected,  keen-witted,  and  vivacious, 
with  a  general  aplomb  that  struck  me  as  remarkable.  At  that 
day  less  attention  was  given  by  our  women  to  the  pitch  of  the 
voice  in  conversation.  Foreigners  often  complained  that  they 
spoke  in  a  shriller  and  higher  key  than  was  common  in  European 
society.  Since  then  cadence  has  been  more  cultivated,  in  con 
formity  with  the  saying  of  King  Lear  in  the  play :  '  Her  voice 
was  ever  soft,  an  excellent  thing  in  woman.' 

In  fine,  after  some  weeks  of  scrutiny  and  tranquil  reflection, 
I  wound  up  with  this  postulate — that  in  antiquities  Europe  beat 
us  all  hollow — there  was  no  denying  it ;  but  for  mental  or  moral 
worth  our  men  and  women  had  no  reason  to  shrink  from  a  com 
parison.  This  was  the  modest  way  I  put  it.  Yet,  after  all,  it 
occurred  to  me,  comparisons  were  idle  between  a  country  so 


448  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

young  as  ours  and  the  ancient  communities  of  Europe.  We 
were  still  in  our  green  youth,  with  all  the  innocence  of  that  age 
— '  a  people/  as  Burke  said,  '  who  are  still,  as  it  were,  but  in  the 
gristle,  and  not  yet  hardened  into  the  bone  of  manhood.'  What 
should  we  become  with  a  century  or  so  on  our  backs,  and  with 
the  increased  knowledge  and  wickedness  that  follow  years  ? 
Should  we  be  as  rational  and  patriotic  amid  the  struggles  of 
hostile  parties  and  the  clashing  of  rival  interests  ?  or  were  we 
destined,  like  so  many  before  us,  only  to  leave  a  name  at  which 

1  The  world  grew  pale, 
To  point  a  moral  or  adorn  a  tale'  ? 

In  spite  of  the  misgivings  of  the  Prince  Woronzow,  and  with 
due  concession  to  the  faults  and  frailties  of  human  nature,  I 
believed  the  United  States  would  carve  out  a  new  record,  and 
furnish  fresh  materials  for  philosophers  to  analyse  and  historians 
to  chronicle. 

My  late  fellow-traveller,  Forrest,  appeared  at  the  Chestnut- 
street  Theatre  in  November,  after  a  lapse  of  three  years,  and  met 
with  an  enthusiastic  welcome.  His  foreign  triumphs  had  added 
to  his  prestige,  and  all  agreed  that  his  acting  had  improved  under 
the  joint  effect  of  maturer  study  and  English  criticism.  The 
theatre  was  crowded  to  overflowing,  and  the  elite  of  the  town 
were  now  amongst  his  heartiest  admirers.  Partly  from  the 
nervousness  I  have  previously  noticed,  but  more  from  mistaken 
pride,  he  had  always  refused  their  proffers  of  civility,  which  they 
resented  by  absenting  themselves  from  his  performances.  His 
European  experience  had  made  him  more  tractable,  and  I  in 
duced  him,  after  a  little  hesitation,  to  consent  to  meet  many  of 
the  leading  persons  of  his  native  town  at  dinner  at  the  house  of 
Mr.  Charles  Ingersoll.  This  gentleman  was  an  eminent  member 
of  the  bar,  and  a  grandson  of  Jared  Ingersoll,  a  signer  of  the 
Federal  Constitution.  His  father,  C.  J.  Ingersoll,  was  for  many 
years  equally  prominent  at  the  bar  and  in  politics.  The  bearing 
of  Mr.  Charles  Ingersoll  was  somewhat  cold  and  lofty,  and  not 
likely  to  conciliate  so  proud  and  sensitive  a  man  as  my  friend 
Forrest ;  but  he  had  a  thorough  love  of  the  drama,  and  a  sincere 
admiration  of  the  great  actor,  which  he  lost  no  opportunity  to 
proclaim.  This  laid  the  foundation  of  a  strong  mutual  esteem. 

The  dinner  in  question  was  to  take  place  on  a  Sunday,  and 
as  I  had  been  active  in  bringing  about  this  conjunction  of  our 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  449 


tragedian  with  the  aristocracy  of  his  birthplace,  I  felt  not  a  littlo 
uneasy  at  his  possible  retreat  at  the  last  moment,  which  had 
occurred  more  than  once  on  similar  occasions.  I  visited  him, 
therefore,  in  his  dressing-room  at  the  theatre  on  Saturday  night, 
to  find  if  his  nerves  were  steady  and  his  purpose  unaltered.  My 
reconnaissance  was  satisfactory,  and  I  left  him  fully  reassured. 
As  I  turned  the  corner  of  the  street  at  four  P.M.  on  the  following 
day,  I  noticed  my  valiant  friend  making  a  steady  advance  on  Mr. 
Ingersoll's  house,  and  I  slackened  my  pace  to  allow  him  to  enter 
before  me.  He  mounted  the  steps  resolutely  and  rang  the  bell, 
when,  to  my  surprise,  he  turned  short  round,  and  strode  away 
hastily.  Evidently  a  sudden  chill  had  seized  him,  and  he  deter 
mined  to  bolt.  I  soon  overtook  him,  and  brought  him  to  a  halt. 

'  What  in  the  world  is  the  matter  ?'  I  exclaimed.  '  Are  you 
taken  ill  ?' 

He  turned  about  with  a  confused  air,  and  cried  out, 

'  I  was  not  going  to  stand  there  all  day.  Why  didn't  they 
open  the  door  when  I  rang  ?' 

'  Why  didn't  you  give  the  servant  half  a  minute  to  reach  it  ? 
Come  along  like  a  man,'  I  said,  in  a  pleasant  tone.  '  None  of 
your  nonsense.' 

He  followed  me  quietly,  like  a  schoolboy  caught  in  the  act.  I 
was  secretly  amused  at  the  collapse  of  his  courage.  He  meant 
to  hurry  home,  write  a  letter  of  apology,  and  so  escape  the  dreaded 
ordeal. 

Forrest  met  with  a  hearty  reception  from  his  host,  who  pre 
sented  him  to  his  wife*  the  only  lady  present.  Mrs.  Ingersoll  was 
a  handsome  woman,  of  superior  intelligence,  and  with  a  charm 
of  manner  she  had  doubtless  acquired  at  the  Court  of  France, 
where  she  had  passed  some  years  with  her  father,  Mr.  Brown, 
then  the  American  Envoy.  The  company  was  numerous,  and  I 
recognised  amongst  them  General  Cadwalader,  Nicholas  Biddle; 
Richard  Rush,  former  Minister  to  England,  and  his  brother,  Dr. 
Rush,  a  nabob  of  Philadelphia ;  Dr.  Chapman,  the  noted  wit ; 
Charles  J.  Ingersoll,  his  brother  Joseph,  and  others  of  the  same 
distinction.  Forrest  was  so  kindly  greeted  by  all  in  turn  that  he 
was  soon  at  his  ease,  and  I  never  knew  him  to  show  to  more 
advantage.  His  fine  countenance  beamed  with  satisfaction,  and 
his  manner  was  pleasing  and  affable.  As  the  chief  guest,  he 
escorted  Mrs.  Ingersoll  to  table  ;  and  when  she  retired,  he  was 
questioned  by  the  company  as  to  his  reception  in  England  and 

GG 


45°  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

his  travels  in  Europe.  He  talked  with  fluency,  told  several  good 
anecdotes,  and,  in  fine,  made  a  most  favourable  impression  on  all 
present. 

We  left  the  house  together,  and  as  we  walked  along  the 
quiet  streets,  he  said,  after  some  moments  of  silence, 

1  This  is  the  proudest  day  of  my  life,  for  I  have  met  on  terms 
of  social  equality  many  of  the  conspicuous  men  of  my  native 
city,  whose  names  have  been  familiar  to  me  from  my  boyhood, 
and  whom  I  never  aspired  to  know.' 

'  And  yet/  I  replied, 'you  showed  the  utmost  eagerness  to 
escape  their  acquaintance,  which  accident  alone  prevented.' 

'  I  confess  it,'  said  the  penitent  Forrest ;  '  but  at  the  last  mo 
ment  I  recoiled  at  the  thought  of  the  patronising  airs  I  was  about 
to  undergo,  and  turned  instinctively  to  fly  from  the  humiliation.' 

'That  is  just  your  abiding  error,'  was  my  answer.  'Well- 
bred  people  never  assume  airs  of  any  kind,  and  it  is  easy  to  turn 
your  back  on  the  vulgar  who  do.  But  it  is  getting  late,  and  so 
good-night.' 

I  left  him  in  the  pleasantest  mood  imaginable,  and  I  indulged 
the  hope  that  his  silly  prejudice  against  good  society  would  be 
finally  overcome. 

It  was  during  this  engagement  of  Forrest  that  unwittingly 
I  made  my  first  and  last  appearance  on  the  stage,  and  it  hap 
pened  in  this  wise :  I  had  occasion  to  call  one  evening  on  the 
tragedian  in  his  dressing-room,  and,  entering  by  the  usual  door, 
undertook  to  cross  the  stage  at  the  upper  end  where  the  scenes 
were  usually  closed.  I  had  got  half-way  over  when  the  voices 
of  the  actors  struck  me  as  unusually  distinct,  and,  looking  round, 
discovered  to  my  terror  I  was  standing  in  front  of  the  audience, 
who  contemplated  me  with  undisguised  astonishment  Every 
eye  was  upon  me,  and,  worse  than  all,  Forrest,  as  Coriolanus, 
was  '  looking  daggers'  at  my  unexpected  intrusion.  My  first 
instinct  was  to  run,  but  I  knew  this  would  bring  a  yell  that 
might  possibly  stop  the  performance.  My  appearance  must 
have  been  ludicrous,  with  my  umbrella  under  my  arm  and  my 
face  full  of  dismay.  I  decided  to  walk  calmly  off  as  I  entered, 
and  did  so,  whilst  an  audible  titter  pervaded  the  house.  I  was 
still  standing  at  the  wings  in  a  copious  perspiration,  when  For 
rest  left  the  stage,  and,  seeing  me,  exclaimed  : 

'  The  next  time,  my  friend,  you  wish  to  make  an  appear 
ance,  let  me  know,  and  you  shall  have  the  scene  to  yourself.' 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  451 

*  Thank  you,'  I  replied  ;  *  but  I  will  not  try  it  again.  I  never 
had  such  a  scare  in  my  life.' 

He  smiled,  but  was  somewhat  annoyed  at  the  incident.  I  had 
to  undergo  a  deal  of  banter  from  friends  who  were  amongst  the 
audience,  and  who  said  they  were  much  disposed  to  applaud  me, 
as  I  really  acquitted  myself  very  well  for  '  a  first  appearance.' 

A  movement  was  on  foot  in  Philadelphia  to  tender  the 
tragedian  the  compliment  of  a  public  banquet,  in  honour  of  his 
return  from  Europe,  which  he  cheerfully  accepted.  A  com 
mittee  had  been  formed  of  the  leading  citizens,  and  Mr.  Charles 
Ingersoll  took  an  active  part  in  its  operations,  of  which  the  fol 
lowing  note  is  a  proof : 

1 3th  Dec.  1837. 

•  Dear  Sir, — Will  you  send  me  word  before  four  o'clock  how  many  of 
the  tickets  I  sent  you  have  been  taken  ?  I  want  to  know  with  a  view 
to  some  of  the  arrangements  for  the  dinner. — Very  sincerely, 

C.  INGERSOLL. 
H.  Wikoff,  Esq. 

Mr.  Nicholas  Biddle  had  consented  to  preside ;  but  two  days 
previously  a  sudden  illness  compelled  him  to  withdraw,  and  Mr. 
Joseph  R.  Ingersoll  was  substituted  in  his  place.  On  the  after 
noon  of  the  festival  I  went  up  to  Forrest's  house  to  see  if  all  was 
right,  not  knowing  what  freak  might  have  seized  on  my  fitful 
friend.  I  found  him  sitting  in  his  library,  with  a  wet  napkin 
around  his  head,  which  had  rather  a  comical  effect. 

'  What's  the  matter  now  ?'  I  inquired.  { Not  trying  on  a  new 
costume  ?' 

'  No  ;  but  I  am  suffering  from  a  diabolical  headache,  and  if  it 
lasts  I  don't  see  how  I  can  go  to  the  dinner.' 

'  I  understand — another  nervous  attack  ;  but  you  must  go,  if 
you  are  carried  on  a  litter.  Make  up  your  mind  to  that.' 

He  gave  vent  to  his  feelings  in  a  hearty  '  D — n  it !'  and  fel 
back  in  his  chair. 

'  Is  your  speech  ready  ?'  I  asked. 

*  Yes  ;  but  I  should  not  be  surprised  if  I  forgot  every  word/ 

1  Hand  me  a  copy,  and  I  will  sit  near  to  give  the  cue.' 

This  seemed  to  relieve  him  ;  and  after  a  little  chat,  in  which 
I  assured  him  the  dinner  would  have  an  excellent  effect  over 
the  country,  that  all  the  newspapers  were  full  of  it,  he  suddenly 
rallied,  took  off  his  headdress,  and  pledged  himself  to  come  to 
time. 


45  2  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

The  banquet  was  given  at  the  Merchants'  Hotel  on  De 
cember  15,  where  some  two  hundred  of  the  notables  of  the  town 
assembled  to  do  honour  to  the  renowned  actor.  Punctually  at 
six  o'clock  the  hero  of  the  night  appeared,  and  shook  hands 
gaily  with  the  eager  throng  that  pressed  round  him.  He 
looked  perfectly  composed,  and  no  one  could  have  imagined 
from  his  calm  mien  and  smiling  visage  that  he  had  passed  the 
afternoon  with  throbbing  temples,  and  secretly  revolving  how 
best  he  could  elude  the  ordeal  that  awaited  him.  The  dinner 
was  irreproachable — every  luxury  of  the  season,  and  much 
more.  One  of  the  champagnes  was  christened  the  '  Forrest 
brand,'  and  was  drunk  almost  exclusively.  The  cloth  removed, 
the  chairman  rose,  and  delivered  an  admirable  discourse  in 
honour  of '  our  guest..'  He  recapitulated  the  steady  rise  of  the 
tragedian  in  his  profession  from  its  lowest  grade ;  his  intense 
devotion  to  his  art  ;  his  successes  abroad  ;  his  private  worth  and 
conscientious  discharge  of  his  duties  in  life.  These  topics  were 
dexterously  handled  by  the  distinguished  chairman,  who  was 
always  a  ready  and  impressive  speaker  ;  but  his  earnestness  on 
this  occasion,  coupled  with  his  eminent  respectability,  gave  ad 
ditional  weight  to  all  he  said.  When  he  called  on  the  company 
to  drink  to  the  health  of  the  actor  '  we  all  admire  and  the  man 
we  all  esteem,'  every  one  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  the  welkin  rang 
with  cheers. 

To  my  surprise,  Forrest  preserved  his  self-possession.  He 
looked  serene,  but  I  could  fancy  the  turmoil  raging  within.  His 
will  triumphed  over  his  nerves.  When  he  stood  up  to  respond, 
fresh  acclamations  greeted  him.  In  appearance  he  was  the 
beau  ideal  of  an  orator.  His  noble  person,  dignity,  and  grace 
arrested  every  eye.  His  speech  was  a  perfect  gem,  and  he  threw 
into  its  delivery  all  the  resources  of  his  art.  His  fine  voice,  like 
a  melodious  organ,  gave  forth  every  variety  of  tone,  and  was 
modulated  to  correspond  with  the  sentiments  enunciated,  now 
swelling  into  a  sonorous  utterance  of  his  sense  of  the  honour 
conferred,  and  now  sinking  into  a  tremulous  key  as  he  described 
the  emotions  he  experienced.  The  varying  expressions  of  his 
face  and  admirable  gesticulation  doubled  the  effect  of  his  telling 
language.  It  was  a  masterly  performance,  and  richly  deserved 
the  enthusiasm  it  evoked.  I  never  knew  an  audience  more 
completely  carried  captive  by  the  charms  of  oratory.  Toasts 
and  speeches  followed.  Mr.  Charles  Ingersoll  spoke  most  effec- 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  453 

tively,  and  bore  testimony  to  the  genius  of  the  first  tragic 
actor  of  the  day.  Mr.  Morton  M'Michael,  a  rising  lawyer,  made 
one  of  the  best  harangues  of  the  night.  He  conveyed  his  ideas 
in  well-rounded  sentences,  and  with  an  earnestness  of  manner 
that  told  on  the  convictions  of  his  auditors.  He  impressed  me 
as  belonging  to  that  limited  category  of  men  who  believed  what 
they  said.  Every  one  left  the  banquet-hall  delighted  with  the 
entertainment,  and  I  doubted  not  the  occasion  would  be  long 
remembered. 

I  accompanied  Forrest  to  his  house,  and  congratulated  him 
heartily  on  his  brilliant  success.  He  was  conscious  he  had  made 
a  hit,  and  vastly  elated  at  the  compliments  showered  upon  him. 

'  This  is  another  proud  day  for  you,'  I  remarked.  '  Hence 
forth  eschew  headaches,  nor  "  put  a  clout  upon  that  head  where 
late  a  diadem  stood." ' 

'  Well  quoted,'  retorted  the  tragedian ;  '  but  if  there  is  any 
thing  I  abhor,  it  is  making  a  speech.' 

*  Why/  said  I,  '  you  are  making  speeches  every  night  to  ap 
plauding  audiences.' 

'  Ah,'  he  returned,  '  Shakespeare  and  the  rest  are  responsible 
for  my  speeches  in  the  theatre ;  but  when  I  figure  as  the  author, 
my  knees  are  apt  to  knock  together.' 

1  It  is  strange,  but  true,'  I  added.  '  Yet  no  one  less  familiar 
with  you  than  myself  could  believe  it.' 

The  White  House  had  changed  its  tenant  during  my  absence. 
The  grim  old  warrior  of  Tennessee  had  returned  to  his  home,  and 
was  followed  in  the  chief  magistracy  by  his  favourite  henchman, 
Martin  Van  Buren.  The  manoeuvres,  the  intrigues,  and  the  dip 
lomacy  of  the  '  Little  Magician'  had  triumphed,  and  he  was  now 
the  occupant  of  the  Presidential  chair.  But  he  soon  discovered 
that  he  had  only  succeeded  to  '  a  heritage  of  woe/  The  country- 
had  fallen  into  utter  financial  confusion  ;  trade  and  commerce 
were  prostrated,  and  bankruptcy  was  spread  far  and  wide.  The 
overthrow  of  the  United  States  Bank,  which  had  acted  as  a  use 
ful  lever  in  the  business  machinery  of  the  country,  was  the  soli 
tary  cause  of  this  dire  condition  of  things.  President  Jackson, 
in  .his  hatred  of  the  '  Monster/  and  doubtless  believing  he  could 
effect  a  *  reform  in  the  currency/  which  really  required  none, 
never  stopped  to  reflect  what  might  ensue  when  all  check  over 
the  circulating  medium,  which  was  the  special  function  of  the 
United  States  Bank,  was  removed.  The  Government  deposits, 


454  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

when  withdrawn  from  the  vaults  of  the  national  institution,  were 
confided  to  various  State  Banks,  which,  supposing  themselves 
the  permanent  custodians  of  all  this  gold,  issued  at  once  large 
amounts  of  paper,  that  was  considered  safe  and  convertible.  This 
was  not  all,  nor  the  worst.  For  when  the  fiscal  agent  of  the  Govern 
ment  disappeared,  a  host  of  sham  banks  sprang  up  all  over  the 
country,  which  was  soon  flooded  with  an  enormous  emission  of 
notes,  that  represented  not  gold,  but  the  brass  of  the  audacious 
men  who  manufactured  them.  Of  course  this  stimulated  the 
wildest  speculation,  and  gave  an  artificial  value  to  all  kinds  of 
property.  The  reaction  came.  All  the  banks  of  the  country, 
good  and  bad,  suspended  specie  payments,  and  gold  and  silver, 
taking  the  wings  of  the  morning,  vanished  from  the  land. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  when  I  arrived  in  the  autumn  of 
1837.  Alarmed  by  the  outcries  and  groans  of  the  afflicted 
people,  President  Van  Buren  called  a  special  Session  of  Congress, 
and  the  Administration  party  set  to  work  tinkering  and  cobbling, 
in  the  hope  to  mitigate  the  universal  ruin  staring  them  in  the 
face.  The  politicians  of  the  Jackson  school  were  filled  with 
dismay,  for  they  could  plainly  discern  the  coming  of  the  whirl 
wind.  The  knowing  ones  began  seceding,  and  hid  themselves 
away  in  the  ranks  of  the  Whigs.  As  for  the  masses,  who  had 
been  shouting  'Hurrah  for  Jackson  !'  for  years  past,  never  dream 
ing  they  would  pay  such  a  penalty  for  their  hero-worship,  they 
were  expiating  their  folly  in  sackcloth  and  ashes.  It  was  clear 
to  any  impartial  observer  they  would  seek  vengeance  at  the 
polls  when  the  next  Presidential  election  came  on.  Meanwhile 
they  were  consigned  to  penury  and  repentance. 


CHAPTER  XLVI. 

RETURN  TO  PHILADELPHIA  (continued). 

M.  B.  SAMPSON — UNDER  LOCK  AND  KEY — PHRENOLOGY  EXPLORED. 

I  MADE  the  acquaintance,  during  the  winter,  of  an  English 
gentleman  who  was  staying  at  the  same  hotel.  His  name  was 
Mr.  M.  B.  Sampson,  and  he  was  a  trusted  agent  of  the  Bank  of 
England,  which  had  sent  him  recently  to  Philadelphia  to  investi 
gate  its  accounts  with  the  Bank  of  the  United  States.  He  was 
accompanied  by  his  wife,  who  was  an  amiable  woman,  but 
of  a  very  taciturn  bent.  The  kind  disposition,  unassuming 
manners,  superior  mind,  and  decorous  tone  of  Mr.  Sampson 
made  his  society  exceedingly  congenial.  Though  profoundly 
versed  in  the  lore  of  finance,  he  had  none  of  the  arid  reserve 
usually  belonging  to  a  mere  man  of  figures.  He  was  fond  of 
society  and  the  amusements  of  the  day,  especially  the  theatre. 
He  had  once  even  written  a  play  on  the  sly,  for  the  Bank  of 
England  would  have  shrunk  aghast  from  association  with  a 
dramatist.  I  took  him  often  to  see  Forrest,  whom  he  greatly 
admired,  and  he  wrote  some  admirable  notices  of  his  acting, 
which  I  had  inserted  in  the  newspapers. 

I  remember  on  one  occasion  he  promised  to  accompany  me 
to  the  theatre,  and  we  agreed  to  meet  at  the  hotel  for  that  pur 
pose.  I  was  punctual  at  the  rendezvous  ;  but  my  friend,  who 
was  always  exact,  did  not  return,  and  his  wife  was  not  a  little 
perplexed  at  his  disappearance.  After  waiting  some  time  I 
went  off  in  despair.  I  got  back  to  the  hotel  at  midnight,  and 
expected  to  have  the  mystery  solved,  but  nothing  had  been 
heard  of  the  missing  Sampson  in  the  interval.  His  wife  was 
greatly  agitated,  and  feared  some  accident  had  befallen  him. 
I  felt  uneasy,  but  tried  to  calm  her  apprehensions.  He  had 
gone  as  usual  to  the  United  States  Bank,  where  he  always 
passed  the  day,  poring  over  his  balance-sheets,  but  invariably 
returned  home  about  five  P.M.,  when  the  Bank  was  locked  up,  and 
the  janitor  left.  It  was  too  late  to  make  any  inquiries  that 


45  6  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

night,  and  so  Mrs.  Sampson  and  myself  were  forced  to  retire  to 
rest  with  our  anxiety  unrelieved.  I  had  such  entire  confidence  in 
the  steady  habits  and  domestic  devotion  of  my  friend,  that  I 
refused  to  give  way  for  a  moment  to  the  supposition  that  he  had 
yielded  to  any  passing  temptation.  The  next  morning,  to  my 
great  satisfaction,  I  found  him  seated  at  the  breakfast-table, 
serene  and  smiling  as  usual  ;  and  before  I  could  interrogate  him 
on  his  mysterious  eclipse  of  the  previous  night,  he  began 
promptly  to  explain  it. 

Absorbed  in  his  figures,  he  related,  he  had  remained  at  his 
desk  in  the  Bank  beyond  his  usual  hour,  and  the  janitor,  know 
ing  his  punctuality,  took  it  for  granted  he  had  gone,  locked  up 
the  doors,  and  retired.  When  Sampson  came  down,  he  found, 
to  his  dismay,  he  was  a  prisoner,  and  discovering  no  egress  pos 
sible,  he  resolved  to  make  the  best  of  it.  He  was  lucky  enough 
to  stumble  on  candles  and  matches,  when  he  resumed  his  finan 
cial  labours,  and  so  passed  most  of  the  weary  night  Occasion 
ally  he  stretched  himself  on  the  counters  of  the  Bank,  with  a 
ponderous  ledger  for  a  pillow,  hoping  to  snatch  a  little  sleep  ; 
but  the  cold  was  so  sharp,  he  was  forced  to  pace  to  and  fro 
to  keep  up  his  circulation,  envying  the  while  the  fortunate  folks 
who  were  comfortably  ensconced  in  bed.  At  seven  in  the 
morning  the  janitor  walked  in,  and,  seeing  a  man  in  the  Bank, 
was  going  to  give  the  alarm,  but  recognising  Mr.  Sampson,  he 
wondered  how  he  had  got  there.  He  was  full  of  penitence 
when  he  learned  the  facts  ;  but  disregarding  his  excuses  the 
liberated  Sampson  hurried  home,  to  reassure  his  wife  of  his 
safety.  I  laughed  at  the  story,  and  said  it  was  very  amusing. 

'  To  you  it  may  be/  retorted  the  ex-captive,  '  but,  as  Clarence 
says, 

"  I  would  not  spend  another  such  a  night, 
Though  'twere  to  buy  a  world  of  happy  days." ' 

What  interested  me  the  most  in  my  English  friend  was  the 
strange  conjunction  of  very  opposite  traits.  Though  profoundly 
versed  in  all  the  mysteries  of  finance,  which  indicated  a  mind 
steady  and  exact,  he  was,  at  the  same  time,  impregnated  with  a 
keen  relish  for  literature  and  the  arts.  Furthermore,  he  re 
vealed  a  decided  bias  for  new  theories,  and  was  given  to  pin 
his  faith  on  speculative  doctrines  of  all  sorts.  He  was  a  convert 
to  homoeopathy,  a  devout  believer  in  phrenology,  and  scarcely 
less  disposed  to  put  trust  in  mesmerism.  I  had  never  investi- 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  457 

gated  any  of  these  novel  subjects,  and  was  therefore  full  of 
scepticism.  We  spent  hours  wrangling  over  these  topics,  and 
his  superior  knowledge  often  silenced,  but  failed  to  convince,  me. 
One  day  we  had  a  set-to  on  phrenology. 

1  From  the  days  of  Pythagoras  and  Plato/  I  remarked,  '  down 
to  our  time,  the  subtlest  thinkers  have  lost  themselves  in  seeking 
to  penetrate  the  mysteries  of  the  brain,  and  its  invisible  connec 
tion  with  the  body.  It  seems  to  me,  therefore,  absurd  to  say 
that  the  functions  of  the  brain  in  general,  and  its  different  parts 
in  particular,  can  be  determined,  and  that  the  various  disposi 
tions  and  intellects  of  people  can  be  indicated  by  the  protuber 
ances  and  cavities  found  on  the  skull.' 

'  Whilst  I  grant/  replied  Sampson,  '  that  the  development 
of  the  skull  is  not  the  same  in  all  persons,  yet  I  assert  that  the 
protuberances  and  cavities  in  question  are  manifested  on  every 
head.  It  is  also  true  that  nearly  all  the  philosophers  who  have 
made  the  mystical  relations  of  the  soul  and  body  their  study 
have  agreed  in  designating  the  fore  part  of  the  head  as  the  seat 
of  the  intellectual  faculties,  and  the  back  part  that  of  the  animal 
organs.  Experiment  has  likewise  proved  that  the  brain  is  divided 
and  subdivided  into  hemispheres  and  lobes,  with  bridges,  as  it  were, 
connecting  them,  and  that  the  loss  or  disease  of  any  particular 
part  affects  some  especial  faculty  or  organ.  The  opponents  of 
phrenology  are  compelled  to  admit  that  the  brain  is  not  only 
complex,  but  that  each  part  of  it  has  its  various  functions.  A 
simple  but  convincing  illustration  of  its  composite  nature  is  the 
fact  that  insane  people  are  usually  only  deranged  on  one  or  two 
subjects,  and  are  rational  on  all  others.' 

4 1  do  not  question  the  complexity  of  the  brain/  I  answered, 
1  or  that  it  is  the  seat  of  all  mental  and  moral  power,  or  that  its 
ascendency  is  complete  over  the  body,  as  shown  by  such  familiar 
phenomena  as  the  paleness  or  redness  of  the  face  and  a  thousand 
other  bodily  disturbances.  But  what  I  fail  to  comprehend  is 
the  possibility  of  making  a  scientific  classification  of  our  mental 
and  moral  traits,  and  that  each  has  its  special  residence  in  the 
brain,  and  can  be  discovered  by  an  external  development.  This 
I  consider  a  downright  fallacy  of  Dr.  Gall,  the  founder  of  the 
system  ;  and  whilst  conceding  all  he  has  done  for  the  anatomy 
of  the  brain,  I  cannot  subscribe  to  his  doctrine  that  the  twenty- 
seven  organs  he  specifies  have  each  their  favourite  haunts,  and 
that  the  propensities,  sentiments,  and  intellectual  faculties  of 


45  8  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

every  one  may  be  detected  by  the  simple  application  of  the 
finger  to  the  skull.' 

'  You  should  not  forget/  continued  Sampson, '  that  the  doc 
trine  of  Gall,  fantastic  as  you  may  think  it,  has  been  sustained 
and  elaborated  by  men  of  such  undoubted  learning  as  Spurzheim 
and  Combe  and  a  host  of  others.  However,  I  do  not  aspire  to 
overcome  your  doubts  by  mere  discussion  ;  and  as  I  believe  you 
would  like  to  verify  what  there  may  be  of  truth  or  deception  in 
the  new  science,  as  I  regard  it,  I  propose  you  should  accompany 
me,  when  convenient,  to  the  house  of  a  practical  phrenologist  I 
know,  and  draw  your  conclusions  accordingly.' 

'  Most  cheerfully,'  I  replied.  '  I  will  go  to-morrow.' 
The  next  day  I  accompanied  my  friend  to  the  residence  of 
Mr.  Fowler,  who  was  informed  that  I  was  a  rank  unbeliever  in 
the  creed  of  Gall,  and  came  there  to  have  my  doubts  confirmed. 
Mr.  Fowler  bowed  pleasantly,  and  asked  me  to  be  seated,  when 
he  began  manipulating  my  head  in  silence.  After  a  few  minutes 
he  proceeded  in  simple  language  to  portray  my  mental  and 
moral  characteristics,  which  seemed  to  interest  him,  whilst  it 
utterly  astounded  me.  Had  he  lived  with  me  all  his  life,  '  had 
he  twinned  with  me,  both  at  a  birth,'  as  Othello  says,  he  could 
hardly  have  made  a  closer  analysis  of  my  individuality.  Point 
ing  out  the  various  elevations  and  depressions  of  the  cranium, 
he  stated  the  size  and  force  of  the  organ  there  resident,  and 
showed  how  one  of  a  certain  tendency  either  balanced  or  over 
powered  another  of  an  opposite  tendency,  and  so  gave  shape 
and  direction  to  the  mind  and  character.  After  studying  these 
indications  for  a  time,  he  proceeded  to  draw  up  a  map,  as  it 
were,  of  my  personality,  and  the  result  was,  as  I  just  said,  quite 
confounding.  Whether  he  strictly  told  the  truth,  which  might 
not  always  be  politic,  or  only  revealed  what  he  thought  would 
be  palatable,  I  cannot  say,  but  he  really  made  me  out  a  very 
inoffensive  sort  of  person.  Nay,  more,  the  portrait  he  drew 
was,  on  the  whole,  so  flattering  that  I  began  to  hope  the  new 
doctrine  might  be  true.  I  was  bound  to  admit,  however,  that 
much  of  what  he  declared  I  felt  to  be  exact.  I  will  venture  to 
repeat  some  of  the  utterances  of  the  oracle,  not  from  vanity,  but 
more  to  call  the  attention  of  scoffers  like  myself  to  the  preten 
sions  of  phrenology  as  a  new  science.  I  will  write  the  organs  in 
italics. 

Your    mind,'  said  Mr.    Fowler,  'is  active,  your   propelling 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  459 

powers  positive  and  energetic  ;  hence  you  work  off  your  power, 
both  physically  and  mentally,  very  rapidly.  You  have  a  good 
combination  of  energy,  enterprise,  and  determination  ;  and  with 
these  elements  of  power  you  also  have  a  poetical  spirit  and  love 
of  the  beautiful  and  perfect.  You  also  have  the  religious  ele 
ment  strongly  marked,  embracing  Spirituality,  Veneration,  and 
Benevolence,  which  often  manifests  itself  for  moral  perfection, 
and  creates  a  strong  sympathy  for  the  refinements  of  life  and 
with  all  that  pertains  to  the  beautiful  and  artistic.  You  are 
something  of  an  antiquarian.  You  have  enough  of  Veneration 
to  give  you  a  strong  affinity  for  the  past,  especially  for  what 
ever  has  been  connected  with  eminent  personages  and  eminent 
events. 

'  Your  Hope  is  very  influential,  and  you  always  expect  suc 
cess.  If  you  were  to  fail  in  one  undertaking,  you  would  enter 
upon  another  with  increased  zest.  You  generally  have  a  word 
of  comfort  for  everybody.  The  future  to  you  is  always  bright. 
You  do  not  mourn  over  losses  and  disappointments.  Your 
Firmness  and  Faith,  your  Hope  and  Pride,  all  work  together, 
producing  cheerfulness,  earnestness  of  effort,  persistent  courage, 
joined  to  a  belief  in  Providence  that  "  it  helps  those  who  help 
themselves." 

'  Your  love  of  Approbation  is  not  that  which  seeks  flattery  or 
display,  but  is  that  which  acts  in  conjunction  with  pride  and 
determination,  giving  a  sense  of  honour  and  love  of  success. 
You  are  anxious  that  those  whose  good  opinions  you  value 
should  comprehend  your  motives,  even  though  you  fail  in  your 
schemes. 

*  Your  Combativeness  and  Destructiveness  are  distinctively, 
though  not  largely,  developed.  It  is  more  natural  for  these 
faculties,  in  your  case,  to  give  promptness  and  efficiency  than  to 
produce  severity  and  pugnacity  of  disposition. 

'  You  have  but  little  Secretiveness,  and  what  you  have  is  em 
ployed  in  conjunction  with  intellect,  giving  policy,  shrewdness, 
and  tact,  rather  than  with  the  animal  propensities,  giving  cun 
ning  and  slyness.  In  ordinary  society  you  appear  very  frank, 
and  ordinarily  are  so.  You  are  watchful,  without  being  timid  ; 
but  you  have  felt  more  embarrassment  in  trying  situations  than 
most  persons  would  give  you  credit  for.  It  is  generally  sup 
posed  you  are  never  afraid  ;  and  you  have  a  fashion  of  making  a 
bold  effort  -and  striking  early  when  you  feel  embarrassed,  and 


460  Ret^lrn  to  Philadelphia. 


thus  often  appear  particularly  brave  and  self-possessed,  when, 
in  fact,  you  feel  apprehensive. 

'Your  Adhesiveness  is  large.  You  make  friends  wherever 
you  go.  You  are  capable  of  strong  attachments,  especially  for 
women,  with  whom  you  have  always  been  popular,  and  can 
interweave  yourself  with  them  in  almost  any  society,  so  as  to 
make  your  company  sought  after  by  old  and  young.  You  can 
gain  the  confidence  of  children  and  women — either  will  tell  you 
that  which  they  will  not  confide  to  most  men,  and  are  inclined 
to  regard  you  as  a  friend. 

'  You  have  intensity  rather  than  continuity  of  mind.  You 
engage  in  an  enterprise  with  great  energy,  and  for  the  time 
being  appear  to  have  but  a  single  object  in  view. 

1  Your  reasoning  intellect  has  been  considerably  cultivated, 
particularly  Causality.  You  reason  much  more  than  is  generally 
supposed.  You  have  a  way  of  coming  to  conclusions  almost  at 
a  jump  ;  but  your  mind  works  industriously,  though  not  plod 
dingly,  still  philosophically.  You  perceive  the  facts  of  the  case 
very  quickly.  You  have  large  observing  organs,  and  a  leading 
peculiarity  of  your  mind  is  to  arrange  facts  most  methodi 
cally. 

'  You  have  a  large  organ  of  Language.  Your  vocabulary  of 
words  is  extensive,  and  you  are  rarely  at  a  loss  for  just  the  word 
to  give  the  desired  shade  and  modification  to  your  thought. 

'  Another  organ  equally  developed  is  Order.  You  must  have 
everything  systematically  organised.  If  you  were  at  the  head 
of  a  business  or  a  school,  you  would  have  a  system  from  top  to 
bottom  almost  as  strict  as  a  military  establishment. 

'  You  have  the  faculty  of  Human  Nature  largely  developed, 
which  enables  you  to  comprehend  character  at  a  glance  ;  and 
Agreeableness  and  Imitation,  which  empower  you  to  adapt  your 
self  successfully  to  society. 

'  You  value  property  chiefly  for  its  uses.  You  could  be 
economical  if  necessary  ;  but  it  is  more  natural  for  you  to 
acquire  than  to  keep  and  lay  up. 

1  Your  sympathies  are  so  influential  as  to  blind  you  to  the 
faults  of  others,  and  to  lead  you  to  waive  your  own  interests  and 
convenience  in  their  behalf 

This  was  merely  an  abstract  of  what  was  said,  but  enough  to 
convey  a  fair  impression  of  the  process.  I  left  Mr.  Fowler's 
residence  quite  staggered  at  the  evidence  that  phrenology,  in- 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  461 

stead  of  an  imposture,  as  I  supposed,  was  hardly  less  than  a 
new  revelation.  Sampson  divined  my  state  of  mind,  and  quietly 
remarked, 

'  You  see  I  did  not  exaggerate  the  pretensions  of  the  young 
science,  and  you  will  readily  admit  that  Gall  and  his  disciples 
are  not  the  mere  theorists  you  fancied.' 

'  I  will  admit  whatever  you  please,'  I  said  sincerely.  '  I  am 
utterly  confounded,  and  forced  to  confess  that  what  I  thought 
was  superior  wisdom  on  my  part  was  simply  ignorance  and  con 
ceit.  Meanwhile,  I  am  under  boundless  obligations  to  you  for 
bringing  me  into  contact  with  an  unknown  world.  I  shall  here 
after  be  less  sceptical,  and  more  disposed  to  investigate  than  to 
denounce  doctrines  because  they  are  new.' 

Sampson's  honest  face  radiated  with  intense  satisfaction. 

'  I  could  almost  embrace  you,'  he  said,  '  for  your  candid 
intelligent  declarations.  I  have  known  people  as  bewildered  as 
you  still  assert  that  it  was  all  jugglery,  mere  guess-work  ;  as  if 
the  inmost  recesses  of  the  mind  and  heart  could  be  laid  bare  by 
trickery  !' 

'  Yet  to  be  frank  with  you,'  I  replied,  in  a  pondering  mood, 
*  I  do  not  see  how  far  phrenology  will  serve  mankind.  To  tell 
the  whole  truth  in  every  case  would  rob  those  who  practised  it 
of  their  occupation.  Besides,  the  religious  world  would  say  it 
tended  to  fatalism,  and  would  invoke  the  eloquence  of  the  pulpit 
against  it.' 

'  However  that  may  be,'  returned  my  undaunted  friend, 
'  phrenology  is  none  the  less  one  of  the  striking  discoveries  of 
our  day  ;  and  who  can  foresee  the  benefits  it  may  confer  ? 
Socrates  declared  the  most  precious  knowledge  was  "to  know 
thyself."  If  he  lived  now  he  would  advise  all  to  go  to  a  phre 
nologist  as  the  shortest  road  to  the  desired  information.' 

We  parted  in  front  of  the  United  States  Bank,  which  Samp 
son  entered  ;  and  I  betook  myself  to  my  hotel,  to  make  notes  of 
my  morning's  experience.* 

*  I  shall  have  occasion  to  speak  of  Mr.  Sampson  hereafter.  He  wielded  for 
some  years  supreme  power  over  the  financial  world  of  London  as  the  editor  of  the 
Times  City  article. 


CHAPTER  XLVII. 
RETURN  TO  PHILADELPHIA  (continued?). 

FASHIONABLE  SOCIETY — THE  '  NEW  YORK  HERALD* — JAMES  GORDON  BENNETT. 

I  PASSED  a  merry  winter  in  my  native  town,  frequenting  the 
luxurious  houses  of  many  old  friends.     Dinners  were  numerous 
at  the  usual  hour  of  five  P.M.,  an  hour  or  two  la*ter  than  was 
fashionable  only  ten  years  before.     Balls  and  large  parties  were 
occasionally  given  ;  but  the  most  popular  mode  of  entertainment 
were  small  reunions,  where  the  invitation  was  for  eight  P.M.,  and 
the  refreshments  consisted  chiefly  of  tea  and  ices.     These  soirees 
broke  up  early,  which  made  them  all  the  more  acceptable  to  the 
quiet  people  of  that  time,  who  eschewed  late  hours  and  hot 
suppers.     One  of  the  houses  I  often  visited  in  this  pleasant  way 
was  that  of  Mrs.    John  Ridgway,  the  acknowledged  beauty  of 
the  beau  monde.     She  was  the  eldest  daughter  of  Richard  Wil 
ling,  the  head  of  one  of  the  oldest  families  of  the  town.      In 
early  youth  she  was  famous  for  her  charms,  and  as  she  grew  in 
years  she  developed  in  loveliness.     Above  medium  height,  dark 
hair,  regular  features,  and  eyes  of  peculiar  fascination,  she  was 
pronounced  universally  the  beauty  par  excellence  of  Philadelphia. 
Her  manner  was  reserved,  but  free  from  pretension.      To  all 
persons  and  on  all  occasions  she  was  imposing,  and  intensely 
comme  il  faut.      No  wonder   she   was   always  surrounded   by 
throngs  of  eager  admirers,  struggling  desperately  to  carry  off 
this  brilliant  trophy  ;  but  this  neither  tempted  her  into  coquetry, 
nor  hastened  a  premature  decision.     The  prize  was  drawn  at 
last  by  young  Ridgway,  and  a  happy  selection  it  proved.     He 
was   a  student  of  Nassau  Hall  when  I  was  an  inmate  of  the 
grammar-school  at  Princeton.     Every  one  knew  him  and  liked 
him  ;  for,  though  the  heir  to  a  great  fortune,  he  was  unassuming 
and  kind. 

At  the  house  of  this  handsome  couple  the  best  society  con 
stantly  assembled,  and  I  was  not  more  impressed  by  the  rare 
beauty  of  most  of  the  women  than  by  the  affable  manners  and 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  463 

excellent  tone  that  uniformly  prevailed.  I  felt  that,  for  good 
breeding  and  easy  deportment,  the  society  of  the  Quaker  city 
lost  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  leading  capitals  of  Europe. 
I  often  met  here,  as  elsewhere,  a  remarkably  seductive  woman — 
Mrs.  T.  Willing,  a  sister-in-law  of  our  hostess.  It  was  not  her 
bright  and  pleasing  face,  her  superb  figure  or  winning  manners 
alone,  that  always  attracted  a  group  around  her.  These  powerful 
attractions  were  supplemented  by  a  sparkling  intelligence  and 
raciness  of  conversation  that  never  failed  to  charm,  and  made 
her  society  courted  wherever  she  went.  She  was  an  accom 
plished  musician  too,  and  her  brilliant  execution  on  the  harp 
elicited  the  enthusiastic  applause  of  every  company.  Her  hus 
band,  popularly  known  as  Tom  Willing,  was  celebrated  for  his 
splendid  person  and  elegant  address.  He  was  certainly  one  of 
the  handsomest  men  of  his  day,  and  lost  nothing  even  by  com 
parison  with  the  unrivalled  Count  D'Orsay.  I  met,  for  the 
first  time,  at  Mrs.  Ridgway's  residence  an  American  who  was 
said  to  have  the  widest  entree  to  the  best  society  of  England  and 
France  of  any  American  abroad.  I  refer  to  Francis  P.  Corbin, 
a  grandson  of  the  colonial  Governor  of  Virginia.  He  married 
Miss  Hamilton,  an  heiress  of  Philadelphia,  and  resided  chiefly  in 
Paris,  but  was  passing  the  winter  in  Philadelphia  on  business 
connected  with  his  large  property.  He  was  tall  and  graceful, 
with  an  indefinable  charm  of  manner.  Highly  educated,  unusual 
gifts  of  conversation,  distingut  at  all  times  and  in  all  things,  it  is 
not  surprising  his  company  was  appreciated,  and  his  presence  re 
marked,  even  in  the  Court  circles  of  Europe.  I  will  not  stop  to 
dwell  on  other  houses  no  less  agreeable,  such  as  those  of  Mrs.  J. 
Rush,  the  Ingersolls,  the  Wains,  and  many  more.  It  was  evident 
that  the  social  attractions  of  the  city  of  Penn  had  not  declined 
since  its  pre-revolutionary  days,  when  its  gaieties  eclipsed  those 
of  all  its  colonial  rivals. 

I  resorted  constantly  to  my  favourite  haunt  of  former  days, 
the  Athenaeum,  to  look  over  the  newspapers  and  magazines.  I 
found  the  press  generally  in  the  condition  I  left  it  three  years 
previously.  It  struck  me  as  insipid  after  my  European  expe 
rience.  The  English  and  French  papers,  though  tinctured  with 
partisanship,  were  written  with  elegance  and  force  ;  whereas  our 
journals  of  that  day  were  not  only  given  up  to  party,  but  their 
style  was  careless  and  commonplace.  I  thought  most  of  them 
below  the  culture  and  intellect  of  the  country.  The  truth  was 


464  Return  to  Philadelphia. 


our  journalism  was  then  little  else  than  a  mere  mercantile  enter 
prise.  Advertising  patronage  was  apparently  the  only  object 
sought.  News  of  any  kind,  or  comments  on  the  events  of  the 
day  conveyed  in  vigorous  language,  seemed  beyond  the  ambition 
or  ability  of  the  journalists  of  that  time. 

Wearied  and  repelled  by  these  dull  and  spiritless  sheets,  I 
found  my  attention  gradually  attracted  to  a  New  York  paper  of 
recent  date,  christened  the  Herald.  It  was  something  wholly 
new  in  American  journalism.  Its  articles  and  paragraphs  over 
flowed  with  a  pungency,  raciness,  and  sardonic  wit  not  always 
decorous,  but  none  the  less  novel  and  entertaining.  It  was  tht 
very  antipodes  of  the  serious  and  prosy  sheets  that  surrounded 
it.  All  topics,  whether  men  or  things,  were  treated  in  a  mirthful 
mocking  vein  that  smacked  of  cynicism,  but  lacked  its  acidity. 
The  editor  displayed  powers  of  ridicule  of  surpassing  brilliancy, 
that  reminded  me  of  those  famous  masters  the  Gre  ~ian  Aristo 
phanes  and  the  French  Voltaire.  But  it  was  not  all  mere  glitter 
of  style  and  piquant  humour.  There  was  besides  wide  informa 
tion,  bold  thought,  and  shrewd  sense  that  startled  and  impressed 
the  reader.  Beyond  this  was  also  an  eagerness  to  fulfil  the 
highest  mission  of  journalism,  in  procuring  the  latest  and  best 
news  likely  to  serve  the  interests  or  gratify  the  curiosity  of  all 
classes. 

The  most  striking  feature  was  the  complete  independence 
of  parties  and  factions,  the  utter  contempt  avowed  for  politicians 
and  wire-pullers,  and  the  daily  exposure  of  their  manoeuvres 
and  pretences,  which  showed  the  writer  to  be  as  well  informed 
as  he  was  daring.  These  innovations  were  supplemented  by 
others  not  less  surprising.  The  price  of  the  Herald  was  two 
cents,  a  third  only  of  the  standard  rate.  Its  business  was  con 
ducted  solely  on  a  cash  basis.  Subscriptions  and  advertisements 
were  paid  in  advance.  More  novel  still  were  its  daily  comments 
on  the  stock  market,  with  bold  disclosures  of  the  tricks  of  un 
scrupulous  operators.  All  this  was  so  new,  so  defiant,  so  revo 
lutionary,  that  the  Herald  was  the  talk  of  New  York  and  the 
country.  In  sedate  Philadelphia  the  quidnuncs  wondered,  snarled , 
but  read  it.  The  Athenaeum  duplicated  its  copies.  It  was 
scarcely  three  years  old,  and  its  success  was  beyond  question. 
Its  daily  circulation  was  estimated  at  20,000,  really  prodigious 
when  hitherto  the  leading  journals  rarely  reached  3000.  Its 
popularity  was  not  to  be  wondered  at,  since  it  valiantly  assailed 


Return  to  Philadelphia.  465 

the  plots  of  cliques  in  the  interests  of  all.  The  public  appre 
ciated  its  motives,  applauded  its  courage,  and  enjoyed  its  fun  and 
audacity.  It  was  not  likely  that  the  individuals  satirised  or  the 
coteries  exposed  would  submittosuch  maltreatment  without  explo 
sions  of  rage.  The  Herald  was  denounced  by  its  furious  rivals,  and 
even  personal  assaults  in  the  streets  were  resorted  to  by  violent 
men  to  silence  its  irrepressible  editor.  All  to  no  purpose.  The 
Herald  neither  relaxed  its  energy  nor  abandoned  its  Hudibrastic 
vein.  Its  raillery,  banter,  and  gibes  flowed  on  unchecked,  whilst 
its  pursuit  of  news  was  ever  indefatigable.  Imitators  soon  sprang 
up.  Boston,  Philadelphia,  Baltimore  in  turn  gave  birth  to  a  cheap 
and  independent  press,  though  lacking  the  originality  and  force 
of  their  model.  It  was  plain  that  the  founder  of  the  Herald, 
James  Gordon  Bennett  by  name,  was  the  creator  of  a  new  epoch 
in  journalism — another  Luther  destined  to  overthrow  a  corrupt 
system  ;  a  modern  Hamlet  derisively  exclaiming, 

'  The  time  is  out  of  joint  :  O  cursed  spite, 
That  ever  I  was  born  to  set  it  right !' 

Certainly  he  had  one  gift  singularly  developed.  It  was  clearly 
'  his  nature's  plague  to  spy  into  abuses/  None  excelled  him  in 
this  peering  propensity.  Be  it  in  men  or  things,  a  failing  or  de 
fect  instantly  caught  his  eye.  His  nose  scented  it  from  afar. 

I  was  curious  to  know  his  history,  and  endeavoured  to  trace 
it.  It  appeared  he  was  of  Scotch  descent,  and  crossed  the  At 
lantic,  like  our  Puritan  fathers,  in  search  of  fortune  when  little 
over  twenty  years  old.  He  landed  at  Halifax,  but  saw  no  future 
there,  and  made  his  way  to  Boston.  Here  his  limited  means  gave 
out,  and  he  sought  employment  in  a  publishing  house.  Aspiring 
to  something  higher,  he  wandered  on  to  New  York,  and  strug 
gled  thence  as  far  as  Charleston.  By  chance  he  there  entered  a 
newspaper  office,  the  Charleston  Courier,  and  discovered  at  once 
that  he  had  found  his  vocation.  From  that  moment  he  never 
deserted  it.  A  year  later  he  returned  to  New  York,  and  joined 
the  National  Advocate,  a  Democratic  organ.  When  that  paper 
went  over  to  the  opposition,  Bennett  abandoned  it;  but  soon  after 
appeared  in  the  office  of  the  Courier  and  Enquirer,  edited  by 
Noah  and  Webb.  For  three  successive  winters,  1829,  1830,  and 
1831,  he  was  sent  to  Washington  as  their  correspondent,  and  his 
graphic  sparkling  letters  attracted  general  attention.  In  1832 
the  Courier  and  Enquirer  changed  sides,  and  opposed  the  reelec 
tion  of  General  Jackson  to  the  Presidency.  Bennett  at  once 

nil 


466  Return  to  Philadelphia. 

seceded,  and  founded  the  Globe,  which  had  a  short-lived  existence. 
He  then  betook  himself,  in  1833,  to  Philadelphia,  and  became  a 
co-proprietor  of  the  Pennsylvanian;  but  his  somewhat  irreverent 
manner  of  handling  the  party  leaders  soon  gave  offence,  and  he 
was  forced  to  retire.  This  led  to  a  lawsuit,  and  Bennett  recovered 
5000  dollars  in  damages.  He  immediately  invested  this  in  the 
Evening  Chronicle,  and,  assuming  the  sole  editorship,  essayed  his 
hand  at  independent  journalism  in  Philadelphia,  which  proved, 
however,  much  too  sedate  a  town  to  appreciate  his  pungent  sallies, 
and  the  politicians  especially,  whom  he  daily  lampooned,  strug 
gled  hard  to  overthrow  him.  He  wrestled  manfully  till  his  capital 
was  exhausted,  when  he  threw  down  his  pen  discomfited. 

He  was  then  offered  the  editorship  of  a  Trenton  paper,  but  the 
negotiation  happily  failed.  He  returned  again  to  New  York  well- 
nigh  penniless,  almost  friendless,  but  not  utterly  hopeless.  He 
had  served  an  apprenticeship  of  nearly  twelve  years  to  journalism, 
He  had  carefully  studied  the  country  and  its  true  interests.  He 
had  thoroughly  probed  the  political  game,  North  and  South,  and 
was  familiar  with  all  its  pretexts  and  covert  designs.  He  had  at 
tentively  surveyed  the  press,  and  saw  how  far  it  was  below  its 
mission  :  the  mouthpiece  of  party  instead  of  the  advocate  of  the 
public  weal ;  the  medium  of  advertisements,  but  not  the  purveyor 
of  news.  He  was  made  of  sterner  stuff  than  to  quail  before  ad 
verse  fortune.  In  the  prime  of  life,  free  of  vice,  full  of  experi 
ence,  a  powerful  intellect,  an  indomitable  will,  he  inscribed  on  his 
banner,  '  For  this,  amongst  the  rest,  was  I  ordained/  and  de 
scended  into  a  basement  in  Wall-street  to  challenge  Fate  once 
more.  '  One  poor  man  in  a  cellar  against  the  world  !'  cried  a 
sceptic. 

Thence  emerged,  in  May  1835,  a  small  sheet,  *  four  little  pages 
of  four  columns,'  all  written  by  one  hand  after  sixteen  hours  of 
steady  labour.  The  article  sold  rapidly  ;  customers  multiplied  ; 
the  paper  was  enlarged  ;  the  price  rose  from  one  cent  to  two  ;  till 
in  December  1837  the  editor  sat,  I  heard,  in  his  office  above- 
stairs,  surrounded  by  a  staff,  and  with  two  objects  clearly  in  view, 
— the  overthrow  of  the  party  press  and  the  establishment  of  a 
great  newspaper. 

A  few  only  of  the  vicissitudes  and  disappointments  of  this 
tenacious  and  pugnacious  man  are  recorded  here,  but  enough  to 
show  he  was  not  to  be  rebuffed  or  put  down  by  man  or  demon. 


CHAPTER  XLVIII. 

A  TRIP  TO  WASHINGTON. 

A  TRAGIC  DUEL — A  CHAT  WITH  PRESIDENT  VAN  BUREN — A  CONFLICT  IN  THE 
SENATE STEAM  ON  THE  ATLANTIC— AN  UNEXPECTED  INTRODUCTION. 

THE  winter  was  over,  a  very  pleasant  one,  weather  included, 
and  I  decided  on  a  short  excursion  to  Washington.  I  found 
the  town  on  my  arrival,  March  1838,  in  violent  agitation  over  a 
fatal  duel  that  had  just  occurred.  Mr.  Cilley,  a  member  of  the 
House  from  Maine,  in  a  recent  speech,  had  declared  that  James 
Watson  Webb,  editor  of  the  New  York  Courier  and  Enquirer, 
had  taken  a  bribe  of  5 2,000  dollars  from  the  United  States  Bank, 
This  was  followed  by  a  challenge  from  Webb,  which  Mr.  Cilley 
declined.  Mr.  Webb's  second,  Mr.  J.  Graves,  a  member  of  the 
House  from  Kentucky,  then  desired  to  know  if  the  refusal  was 
grounded  '  on  any  personal  exception  to  his  friend  as  a  gentle 
man  and  man  of  honour/  Mr.  Cilley  denied  his  right  *  to  pro 
pound  the  question,'  and  no  answer  was  returned.  A  second 
challenge  then  ensued  from  Mr.  Graves,  which  was  accepted,  and 
the  parties  repaired  to  Bladensburg,  in  the  vicinity.  The  weapons 
chosen  were  rifles.  The  first  fire  was  without  effect.  A  parley 
ensued  between  the  seconds,  which  led  to  the  renewal  of  the  duel. 
A  second  discharge  left  both  principals  still  untouched.  Where 
upon  Mr.  Graves  sent  word  to  his  antagonist  that  *  he  was  there 
to  defend  the  honour  of  his  friend  ;'  to  which  no  satisfactory 
answer  was  made,  and  the  combat  recommenced.  On  the  third 
exchange  of  shots  Mr.  Cilley  fell  dead.  The  whole  country  was 
deeply  shocked  at  this  tragic  event.  The  seconds — Henry  A. 
Wise  and  General  Jones — were  much  censured  for  not  having 
stopped  the  duel  after  the  first  or  second  fire.  Public  opinion 
was  exasperated  against  this  barbarous  practice.  The  Supreme 
Court  declined  to  attend  the  funeral  of  the  victim,  as  a  protest 
against  duelling.  Congress  then  passed  an  Act  to  make  the 
giving  or  accepting  a  challenge  in  the  district  of  Columbia  a 
misdemeanour,  punishable  with  fine  and  imprisonment. 

I  was  glad  to  meet  at  the  same  hotel  my  former  shipmate, 


468  A  Trip  to  Washington. 

Mr.  J.  S.  Buckingham,  who  had  passed  the  winter  in  the  north 
ern  cities,  lecturing  on  temperance,  of  which  he  was  an  ardent 
apostle.  His  eloquent  denunciations  of  this  vice  in  England 
had  stimulated  the  American  temperance  societies  to  invoke 
his  services  in  their  behalf,  and  wherever  he  appeared  his  audi 
ences  overflowed.  He  was  an  admirable  speaker,  clear  in 
statement,  lucid  in  style,  and  graceful  in  delivery.  His  success 
would  induce  him,  he  said,  to  continue  his  oratorical  tour 
through  the  Union. 

'  Then  you  have  abandoned/  I  remarked,  c  your  trip  round 
the  world,  which  I  always  considered  impracticable.' 

'  Not  at  all,'  he  said  ;  '  I  am  as  staunch  as  ever  in  my  pur 
pose.  I  have  no  fear  the  world  will  run  away  before  I  get 
through  my  temperance  crusade.' 

He  expressed  the  liveliest  horror  of  the  late  dreadful  cata 
strophe,  and  expressed  his  hope  that  a  humane  nation  like  the 
United  States  would  extirpate  this  barbarous  custom  of  the 
Middle  Ages.  In  talking  with  Mrs.  Buckingham,  I  found  her 
dread  had  waxed  stronger  than  ever  at  her  husband's  grandiose 
project  of  crossing  the  two  continents  before  returning  to  Lon 
don.  She  complained  not  a  little  of  travelling  in  the  States, 
and  declared  she  should  never  survive  the  fatigue  and  horrors  of 
a  journey  through  a  wilderness  occupied  by  buffaloes  and  savages. 
I  consoled  her  by  the  prediction  that  her  nerves  would  never  be 
put  to  such  an  improbable  test.* 

I  received  one  morning  the  following  note : 

Monday. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — If  you  are  disposed  to  call  on  the  President  this 
fine  morning,  it  will  give  me  great  pleasure  to  go  with  you  whenever  you 
are  at  leisure. — Very  truly  yours, 

H.  D.  GILPIN. 

The  writer  then  held  the  distinguished  position  of  Attorney- 
General  of  the  new  Administration,  and  was,  moreover,  the 
confidential  friend  of  President  Van  Buren.  I  was  glad  to 
renew  my  acquaintance  with  the  President  under  such  flattering 
auspices,  and  therefore  readily  accompanied  Mr.  Gilpin  to  the 

*  Mr.  B.  finally  relinquished  his  wild  scheme,  and,  after  a  long  stay  in  the  United 
States,  went  home  and  wrote  an  excellent  book  of  travels.  His  promising  son,  when 
only  twenty,  published  an  historical  work  of  great  merit ;  then  suddenly  married  an 
actress,  to  the  horror  of  his  parents ;  produced  some  unsuccessful  plays,  and  dis 
appeared  from  view.  These  model  young  men  sometimes  sadly  belie  the  sanguine 
expectations  of  their  future. 


A  Trip  to  Washington.  469 

White  House.  As  I  entered  its  unguarded  portals  I  related  to 
my  friend  the  stirring  scene  I  had  witnessed  on  my  visit  to 
General  Jackson  some  years  before,  provoked  by  the  indignity 
inflicted  on  the  present  occupant  of  the  mansion.  I  followed 
Mr.  Gilpin  to  the  sanctum  of  the  President,  who  received  me 
with  cordiality.  I  saw  no  change,  either  in  appearance  or 
manner,  since  I  last  beheld  him.  Time  had  written  no  wrinkles 
on  his  tranquil  brow,  and  power  sat  lightly  upon  his  expansive 
shoulders.  Affable,  yet  constrained  in  demeanour ;  animated, 
yet  wary  in  conversation  ;  free  from  the  blemishes  of  many 
politicians  of  that  day  ;  never  familiar  or  vulgar, — he  had  the  air 
of  a  man  rather  bred  in  a  Court  than  amidst  the  turmoil  of  our 
public  life.  The  President  referred,  in  touching  terms,  to  his 
late  cherished  friend,  Mr.  Roberts  Vaux,  and  extolled  his  bene 
ficent  character  and  elevated  mind.  He  talked  pleasantly  of 
England,  and  regretted  his  stay  there  was  so  short.  Upon  this, 
Mr.  Gilpin  repeated  the  narrative  I  had  given  him  of  President 
Jackson's  anger  at  the  conduct  of  the  Senate  in  1831. 

'The  affront,'  said  his  Excellency,  'ruffled  me  slightly  at 
the  time,  but  no  better  fortune  could  have  befallen  me.  The 
country  magnanimously  took  up  my  cause,  and  rewarded  me  far 
beyond  my  expectations.' 

'  The  injudicious  animosity  of  your  rivals/  observed  Mr.  Gil- 
pin,  '  raised  you  to  the  Vice-Presidency,  and  so  made  you  heir 
apparent  to  the  crown.' 

'  Even  so,'  said  the  President,  with  his  courteous  smile. 

I  could  discern  no  symptoms  of  anxiety  at  the  fierce  hissing 
of  the  political  caldron  in  the  imperturbable  bearing  of  the  Pre 
sident,  and  so  expressed,  myself. 

'  I  must  confess,  however,'  he  replied, '  that  I  am  troubled  at 
the  disturbed  condition  of  the  country.  The  sudden  change  in 
our  financial  system  led  first  to  wild  speculation,  and  that  has 
been  succeeded  by  a  tremendous  reaction.  If  I  could  induce 
Congress  to  apply  the  proper  remedy,  and  enable  the  Govern 
ment  to  employ  hereafter  its  own  fiscal  agents,  thus  putting  an 
end  to  any  connection  with  financial  institutions  of  any  kind,  I 
am  convinced  that  all  would  soon  go  well  again.' 

'  I  think  it  unlikely,'  I  replied,  '  that  the  politicians  of  the 
opposite  camp  will  be  so  disinterested  as  to  legislate  for  the 
good  of  the  country  solely,  but  will  rather  seek  to  prolong  the 
existing  disorder  in  the  hope  of  ousting  the  Democrats  from  office/ 


470  A  Trip  to  Washington. 

The  President  smiled  significantly  ;  but  Mr.  Gilpin,  in  his 
energetic  way,  said, 

'  Of  course  they  mean  to  upset  us  if  they  can,  and  events  are 
in  their  favour.  Our  finances  are  deranged  ;  trade  and  com 
merce  languish  ;  and  if  we  cannot  restore  them  to  a  sounder 
condition  in  time,  the  people  may  lose  patience,  and  send  us« 
adrift.' 

'  In  that  case,  Gilpin/  retorted  his  Excellency,  in  a  playful 
tone,  '  the  Philadelphia  bar  will  recover  one  of  its  brightest  orna 
ments.' 

'  Thank  you,  Mr.  President,'  returned  the  Attorney-General, 
who  looked,  however,  as  if  he  did  not  relish  the  prospect. 

Soon  after,  the  President  arose  and  shook  hands  with  us, 
when  we  retired  from  the  Executive  presence. 

I  passed  several  hours  almost  daily  at  the  Capitol.  Great 
fermentation  prevailed  there.  The  Whigs,  who  held  the  Senate, 
were  in  great  glee,  and  rubbed  their  hands  at  the  manifest 
symptoms  of  popular  dissatisfaction.  The  aroma  of  office  began 
to  fill  their  nostrils,  and  their  attacks  on  the  fiscal  policy  of  the 
Government  were  incessant  and  skilful.  Clay  and  Webster, 
the  Hotspur  and  Rupert  of  the  day,  were  constantly  in  the  van, 
and  their  ponderous  blows  fell  thick  and  fast  on  their  cowed 
opponents.  The  country  greedily  devoured  their  eloquent 
speeches,  and  even  the  Democrats,  whilst  smarting  under  these 
diatribes,  could  hardly  refuse  the  homage  of  their  admiration. 

A  splendid  passage-of-arms  occurred  at  this  period  between 
Clay,  Webster,  and  Calhoun.  The  Carolina  senator  had  lately 
swung  round  to  the  Administration,  and  powerfully  advocated 
the  divorce  of  the  Government  from  all  banks  whatever.  Where 
upon  the  champions  of  a  mixed  currency  set  upon  him  fiercely, 
and  twitted  him  in  sarcastic  tones  for  his  inconsistency  in  de 
nouncing  the  specie  policy  of  the  last  President,  whilst  vindicat 
ing  it  under  the  present  one.  This  exciting  conflict  between  the 
Colossus  of  the  South  and  the  Brobdignags  of  the  North  brought 
all  Washington  to  the  Senate  House,  and  the  brilliancy  of  the 
combat  fascinated  every  spectator.  The  Whig  party  were  indig 
nant  at  the  secession  of  Calhoun  from  their  ranks,  and  enjoyed 
the  sharp  rapier-thrusts  that  pierced  him  in  the  melee* 

*  Later  in  the  Session  the  specie  circular  of  July  1836  was  repealed,  and  approved 
by  President  Van  Buren,  who  thought  it  wiser  to  abandon  his  former  policy  than 

incur  the  ill-will  of  the  masses. 


A  Trip  to  Washington.  471 

These  stirring  scenes  in  the  Senate  impressed  me  deeply. 
The  eager  throng  of  men  and  women  that  filled  every  avenue 
to  the  Capitol,  and  hung  spellbound  on  the  declamation  of 
these  brilliant  rhetoricians,  whilst  the  whole  land  rang  with 
applause  at  the  mere  mention  of  their  honoured  names — all  this 
penetrated  my  mind  and  aroused  a  fiery  spirit  of  emulation.  It 
seemed  to  me  the  time  had  come  for  some  lofty  decision  as  to 
my  future.  My  conscience  protested  loudly  against  the  inglori 
ous  life  I  was  leading.  What  !  should  I  resign  all  hope  of 
renown  for  the  hollow  pleasure  of  lolling  in  the  perfumed 
boudoirs  of  society  ?  should  I  content  myself  for  the  rest  of  my 
days  with  '  treading  the  primrose  path  of  dalliance/  and  fly  from 
the  '  steep  and  thorny  way '  to  a  noble  reputation  ?  Stinging 
reflections  like  these  pressed  on  me  thickly  as  I  strolled  about 
the  grounds  of  the  Capitol,  and  I  was  just  on  the  point  of 
making  a  solemn  resolution  that  henceforth  I 

'  Would  scorn  delights  and  live  laborious  days,' 

when,  to  my  great  relief,  the  thought  crossed  me  that  something 
more  than  resolution  was  necessary  to  transform  myself  into  a 
distinguished  man  ;  that  capacity  was  indispensable,  and  a  great 
deal  of  it.  On  looking  into  my  supply  of  this  vital  article  I  was 
fain  to  confess  that  Nature  had  not  dealt  with  me  over-liberally. 
Even  worse  than  this,  I  found  myself  wofully  deficient  in  am 
bition,  '  that  last  infirmity  of  noble  minds.'  Under  these  de 
pressing  convictions  there  was  no  choice  but  to  be  content  with 
the  humble  role  Fate  had  assigned  to  me.  Happily  it  cost  me 
no  grief  that  I  was  not  destined  to  become  a  nation's  idol,  or  to 
leave  my  name  engraved  on  anything  save  a  visiting-card.  I 
was  encouraged  by  the  hope  that  possibly  some  opportunities  of 
usefulness  might  arise  as  I  wandered  through  the  world,  which 
would  likely  think  none  the  worse  of  me  for  not  having  extorted 
its  admiration.  I  descended  the  Capitoline  Hill  quite  cured  of 
my  momentary  longing  for  glory,  which  on  closer  scrutiny  seemed 
very  like  Macbeth's  notion  of  life  : 

'  It  is  a  tale 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 
Signifying  nothing.' 

Upon  my  return  to  Philadelphia  I  began  pondering  over 
my  future  movements.  The  heat  of  the  approaching  summer 
alarmed  me,  and  secretly  I  longed  to  return  to  Europe  to  study 
it  more  attentively.  I  was  so  dazed  by  its  wonders  on  my  first 


47 2  A  Trip  to  Washington. 

visit,  I  could  not  bring  my  mind  to  a  focus,  and  sit  down  calmly 
to  investigate  a  multitude  of  subjects  worthy  the  profoundest 
thought.  Another  voyage  in  a  sailing-vessel,  however,  stag 
gered  me.  In  this  dubious  state  of  mind  I  was  electrified  by 
the  news  that  a  steamer  had  arrived  in  New  York  from  Liver 
pool,  the  pioneer  of  a  regular  line  to  be  established.  The  whole 
country  was  stirred  by  this  startling  event.  The  junction  of  the 
two  continents  by  steam,  the  reduction  of  their  distance  from 
forty  days  and  upwards  to  twelve  or  less,  was  indeed  an  immense 
advantage  to  both,  commercially  and  socially.  New  York,  the 
chief  gainer  by  this  bold  attempt,  went  almost  into  hysterics. 
Bells  were  rung,  meetings  were  called,  dinners  were  given,  and 
the  captain  of  the  '  Sirius'  was  nearly  toasted  to  death.  The 
excitement  rose  to  fever-heat  when,  two  days  later,  a  second 
steamer,  the  '  Great  Western,'  from  Bristol,  cast  her  anchor  in 
the  Bay  of  New  York.  It  was  no  mere  experiment,  as  hitherto. 
Crossing  the  Atlantic  by  steam  was  now  a  problem  solved.  The 
famous  '  liners'  that  had  carried  the  '  Stars  and  Stripes'  so  tri 
umphantly  at  their  mastheads  for  years  were  doomed.  Hence 
forth  the  ocean  belonged  to  steam. 

The  '  Sirius'  was  advertised  to  return  to  London  on  May  I, 
and,  heedless  of  warnings,  I  wrote  instantly  to  secure  a  berth, 
only  dreading  that  they  might  all  have  been  disposed  of  in  the 
rush.  Bidding  a  hurried  adieu  to  friends,  who  censured  my 
rashness,  I  hastened  on  to  New  York,  and  was  one  of  only  seven 
passengers  who  met  on  the  tug  that  was  to  convey  us  on  board 
the  *  Sirius/  smoking  in  the  distance.  I  was  surprised  on  ap 
proaching  at  her  diminutive  size,  and  felt  some  uneasiness 
thereat.  I  regretted  I  had  not  taken  my  place  in  the  *  Great 
Western/  lying  near  by,  that  looked  able  to  cope  with  the  At 
lantic  in  its  worst  moods.  Fortunately  it  was  the  merry  month 
of  May,  when  a  smooth  passage  might  be  anticipated.  It  turned 
out  the  '  Sirius'  was  nothing  else  than  a  coasting  steamer,  plying 
between  Cork  and  Liverpool,  and  had  been  precipitately  char 
tered  by  a  London  company  building  two  steamers  for  the  New 
York  trade,  when  they  found  that  a  Bristol  company  was  likely 
to  cross  the  Atlantic  before  them.  Rather  than  lose  the  glory 
of  initiating  this  great  enterprise,  they  risked  a  disaster  that 
might  have  thrown  a  cloud  over  steam  navigation  for  a  long 
time  to  come. 

As  we  moved  off  amid  the  hurrahs  of  hundreds  of  excited 


A  Trip  to  Washington.  473 

people,  who  came  in  every  kind  of  craft  to  wish  us  God-speed, 
I  thought  of  nothing  but  the  delight  of  setting  winds  and 
waves  at  defiance  in  our  journey  over  the  ocean.  Once  out  at 
sea,  I  began  to  scrutinise  my  fellow-travellers,  consisting  of  five 
men  and  two  women.  Some  one  had  told  me  the  formidable 
editor  of  the  Herald,  J.  G.  Bennett,  was  among  them,  and  I  was 
only  half  pleased  at  the  intelligence.  He  was  certainly  a  man 
worth  knowing,  and  I  was  eager  to  analyse  such  an  extraordinary 
compound  of  brain  and  pluck.  Still,  there  was  something  in  him 
to  inspire  dread.  He  seemed  to  look  on  mankind  as  fit  for  little 
else  than  to  be  converted  into  paragraphs,  which  he  never  failed 
to  spice  with  his  ironical  wit,  that  made  them  very  piquant,  but 
not  over-pleasant  for  the  individual  who  was  made  the  butt.  He 
had  promised  his  readers  to  send  them  a  full  account  of  his 
travels,  beginning  with  his  voyage  in  the  '  Sirius.'  He  might  not 
condescend  to  notice  me,  or  he  might  regard  me  as  a  good  target 
for  his  playful  sarcasm.  I  determined  to  find  him  out  and  make 
a  friend  of  him,  though  I  had  heard  he  was  not  a  man  easy  to 
conciliate,  but  rather  difficult  of  approach,  if  not  actually  re 
pelling. 

I  was  standing  in  the  stern  whilst  thinking  this  over,  and  per 
ceiving  a  tall  slim  man  near  me  I  entered  into  conversation,  and 
found  him  intelligent  and  quite  dignified  in  tone.  His  physi 
ognomy  was  striking :  lofty  forehead,  prominent  nose,  firm 
mouth,  and  the  general  expression,  though  somewhat  stern,  not 
forbidding.  After  chatting  for  some  time,  I  remarked, 

'  I  hear  the  famous  Bennett  is  on  board/ 

'  Yes,  I  believe  he  is/  said  the  tall  man,  with  a  smile. 

1  Do  you  feel  at  all  nervous  about  it  ?' 

'  Not  in  the  least,'  was  the  reply. 

*  Well,  for  my  part/  I  continued,  '  I  am  not  altogether  com 
fortable  on  the  point.' 

'  Why  ?'  asked  my  companion. 

*  Because  he  is  so  given  to  saying  sarcastic  things  of  people/ 

*  That  depends  a  good  deal/  he  answered, '  whether  they  are 
worth  it/ 

1  Do  you  know  him  by  sight  ?'  I  inquired. 

'  Very  well/ 

'  Then  do  point  him  out  if  you  see  him  on  deck/ 

'  He  is  standing  before  you.     My  name  is  Bennett/ 

'  What !'  I  exclaimed,  on  recovering  my  breath ;  '  are  you  the 


474  A  Trip  to  Washington. 

man  so  fiercely  assailed,  and  whose  humorbus  sallies  I  have  read 
with  such  delight  these  six  months  past  ?' 

*  Ecce  homo  /'  he  retorted,  greatly  amused  at  my  astonishment. 

Thus  began  my  acquaintance  with  this  remarkable  man. 

All  went  merrily  for  the  first  week.  Then  stormy  weather 
set  in,  and  our  little  steamer  was  put  to  a  rougher  test  than  I  had 
expected.  She  was  dreadfully  knocked  about,  but  was  staunch 
and  steady  in  the  worst  gales  ;  and  though  her  progress  was  often 
slow,  still  she  ever  advanced  in  the  right  direction.  No  more 
tacking  to  the  right  and  left,  as  in  a  sailing-vessel ;  no  more 
thumping  about  in  a  calm.  If  we  made  only  five  knots  an  hour, 
it  was  so  much  off  our  distance. 

There  was  little  amusement  to  be  extracted  from  my  fellow- 
passengers.  One  of  them  was  a  rich  old  Englishman  of  some 
seventy  odd,  as  merry  and  active  as  a  cricket,  hopping  and  chirp 
ing  about  the  world,  making  friends  with  everybody,  but  scarcely 
sitting  down  in  any  country  he  visited.  He  had  been  three  weeks 
in  the  United  States,  and  was  now  on  his  way  to  India.  After 
that  he  would  take  a  turn  in  South  America.  He  was  an  oddity, 
but  a  jolly  one. 

There  was  another  Englishman  besides  ;  a  conceited  dog 
matic  fellow,  a  banker  in  Rio  Janeiro.  I  often  found  myself  in 
collision  with  him  ;  and  when  I  got  the  worst  of  it  on  a  financial 
topic,  Mr.  Bennett  generally  came  to  the  rescue,  and  invariably 
took  the  starch  out  of  this  blatant  prig. 

I  spent  a  deal  of  time  very  profitably  in  talking  with  the  re 
nowned  journalist.  I  found  him  the  antipodes  of  what  one  might 
have  expected  who  read  the  Herald.  No  levity,  or  jocularity,  or 
abandon.  In  manner  and  conversation  he  was  serious,  practical, 
and  full  of  knowledge  of  all  kinds,  yet  making  no  parade  of  it. 
His  vigorous  positive  mind  had  the  effect  of  a  tonic  on  my 
romantic  temperament.  He  looked  at  things  earnestly,  analysed 
them  accurately,  and  came  to  almost  mathematical  conclusions. 
He  had  a  wonderful  insight  of  mankind,  generally  suspected 
the  worst,  and  thus  sometimes  fell  into  error.  Men  are  not  all 
so  bad  as  some  think,  though  others  are  worse.  As  to  women, 
he  had  no  comprehension  whatever,  and  for  that  reason  shunned 
them.  Their  wayward  illogical  natures  were  to  him  as  a  labyrinth, 
difficult  of  egress,  and  therefore  dangerous  to  enter.  With  men 
he  made  short  work,  by  assailing  them  if  they  stood  in  his  way. 

When  only  a  couple  of  days  from  the  English  coast  our  coal 


A  Trip  to  Washington.  475 

was  nearly  exhausted,  and  we  were  obliged  to  economise  by 
going  half-speed.  Towards  the  last  we  were  forced  to  burn  up 
whatever  could  be  spared. 

On  entering  the  English  Channel  we  were  enveloped  in  a 
dense  fog,  but  kept  on  our  way,  rejoicing  at  the  near  termination 
of  our  voyage.  Suddenly  the  mist  cleared  off,  and  to  our  horror 
we  found  we  were  heading  right  on  to  one  of  the  Scilly  Isles. 
In  a  half-hour  more  we  should  have  been  a  wreck.  Our  skip 
per,  Roberts  by  name,  was  a  cheery  little  man,  with  a  bright  face 
and  quick  wit,  but  much  too  daring.  I  thought  he  lacked  judg 
ment  and  due  caution.  His  sad  fate,  a  little  later,  did  not  sur 
prise  me.  On  the  seventeenth  day  we  put  into  Falmouth  for 
coal  and  provisions,  and  then  started  off  for  London  in  high 
spirits.  Several  of  our  passengers  left  us  there  to  take  the  coach 
to  London.  I  was  sorry  to  part  with  Mr.  Bennett,  who  was 
bound  to  Scotland,  but  we  arranged  to  meet  in  Paris  during 
July.  On  the  eighteenth  day  we  disembarked  in  the  London 
Docks.  The  'Great  Western'  made  her  return  trip  to  Bristol  in  less 
than  twelve  days.  Steam-travelling  on  the  Atlantic  was  thus 
inaugurated,  and  I  felt  sure  that  the  day  was  not  distant  when 
no  other  mode  of  ocean-transit  would  be  thought  of. 

I  had  already  resolved  to  make  my  head-quarters  at  Paris. 
Not  that  London  had  lost  all  its  charms,  but  'the  gay  capital  of 
France  was  by  far  the  more  attractive.  I  stopped  but  a  day  in 
London,  and  called  at  Gore  House  to  pay  my  respects  to  the 
Countess  of  Blessington.  Unfortunately  her  ladyship  was  out ; 
and  I  left  for  her  kind  acceptance  a  Philadelphia  edition  of  some 
of  her  works,  which  I  thought  would  be  a  pleasing  proof  of 
foreign  admiration  of  her  great  literary  talent  The  same 
evening  I  received  the  following  note : 

Gore  House,  Wednesday  night. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — On  my  return  home  this  evening  I  found  your 
obliging  note,  and  the  very  acceptable  gift  that  accompanied  it,  accept 
able  no  less  as  a  proof  of  your  recollection  than  as  a  flattering  evidence 
of  the  kind  feeling  of  your  country  towards  my  books.  I  regret  that  the 
shortness  of  the  notice  of  your  departure  precludes  me  from  taking  ad 
vantage  of  your  polite  offer  of  sending  a  letter  to  my  fair  and  amiable 
friend,  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  to  whom  I  beg  you  will  offer  my  kindest 
regards.  When  you  return,  I  trust  you  will  give  me  an  early  oppor 
tunity  of  thanking  you  in  person,  and  that  you  will  believe  me  very 
sincerely  yours, 

MARGUERITE  BLESSINGTON. 


CHAPTER  XLIX. 

PARIS  REVISITED. 

DEATH  OF  TALLEYRAND — RAILWAY  EXCITEMENT — A  CONVERSATION  WITH 
THE  COUNTESS  GUICCIOLI. 

MY  feelings  on  returning  to  Paris  were  not  of  the  wild  and 
tumultuous  character  as  on  my  first  visit ;  but  my  delight,, 
though  more  serene,  was  none  the  less  profound.  My  late 
residence  in  London  and  recent  trip  to  the  States  seemed  only 
to  have  renovated  my  taste  for  this  bewitching  town,  whose  se 
ductions  are  as  mysterious  as  they  are  inscrutable.  The  magic 
that  pervades  it  must  reside  in  the  irresistible  manners  and  gay 
temperament  of  the  French,  who  in  these  qualities  surpass  all 
other  people  known.  The  effect  is  the  same  upon  the  inhabi 
tants  of  all  countries,  who  seek  in  Paris  an  exhilaration  to  be 
found  nowhere  else  ;  but  it  is  the  Anglo-Saxon  especially  who 
appreciates  it,  since  he  finds  the  ways  of  the  French  so  pleasing 
and  picturesque  after  the  sedate  prosaic  life  he  leads  at  home. 
An  Englishman  or  American  enters  Paris  in  the  same  lively 
excited  frame  of  mind  with  which  people  generally  visit  a  place 
of  amusement ;  and  it  is  rare  indeed  they  leave  it  without  theii 
full  of  entertainment  of  one  sort  or  another. 

On  my  arrival  I  found  the  name  of  Talleyrand  in  everybody's 
mouth.  He  had  just  died,  and  the  varied  incidents  of  his  extra 
ordinary  career  were  related  and  discussed  by  every  class  and  at 
every  corner.  His  reconciliation  to  the  Church  astounded  every 
body.  Excommunicated  long  years  before,  he  had  got  on  so 
successfully  whilst  under  the  ban  that  no  one  supposed  he  cared 
to  make  it  up  with  the  Pope  at  the  last  moment.  His  niece, 
the  Duchess  de  Dino,  whom  he  adored,  induced  him  to  abjure 
his  naughtiness,  and  reenter  the  fold.  When  his  recovery  was 
hopeless,  the  King  paid  him  a  visit.  Talleyrand  rallied  in  the 
royal  presence,  and  declared  *  this  was  the  greatest  honour  ever 
conferred  upon  his  house.' 

His  Majesty  asked  him  if  he  was  in  much  pain. 


Paris  Revisited.  477 


'  Yes,'  he  replied.  *  I  am  suffering  the  torments  of  the 
damned.' 

'Already!'  said  the  King,  almost  unconsciously. 

The  dying  man  smiled  faintly  at  this  ban  mot,  that  might 
have  been  his  own.  A  day  or  two  later,  when  he  was  sinking 
fast,  a  priest  whispered  in  his  ear  that  the  Archbishop  of  Paris 
had  said  '  he  would  give  his  life  to  save  him.' 

Talleyrand,  with  difficulty,  replied, '  He  might  make  a  better 
use  of  it' 

These  were  his  last  words.  A  striking  illustration  of  his 
character  may  be  found  in  the  following  words  he  used  when 
talking  one  day,  in  the  time  of  the  first  Napoleon,  of  Narbonne, 
a  fellow-diplomatist :  '  He  has  more  capacity  than  I  have,  a 
hundred  times  more,  but  less  tact.  He  was  often  accused  of 
being  giddy  and  reckless :  these  are  the  accusations  of  super 
ficial  people.  There  was  nothing  giddy  about  him  but  his  con 
versation,  which  was  charming.  His  chief  fault  was  that  he  was 
mostly  serious,  too  serious.  He  allowed  himself  to  become 
attached,  to  get  excited,  to  give  way  to  his  zeal — trop  de  zHe.  If 
he  returned  to  public  life  he  would  show  the  same  devotion,, 
which  just  now  is  more  fashionable  than  prudent.  Believe  me, 
there  is  nothing  more  absurd.  In  politics,  as  in  other  things,  it 
is  necessary  not  to  allow  your  heart  to  be  engaged.  It  is  a 
mistake  to  love  too  much.  It  bewilders  you,  it  damages  the 
clearness  of  your  vision,  and  never  leads  to  good.  To  be  exclu 
sively  engrossed  by  another — to  be  devoted  to  the  point  of 
entirely  forgetting  yourself — is  injurious  to  the  object  cherished, 
and  equally  so  to  the  one  who  loves,  for  it  makes  the  latter  less 
careful,  less  adroit,  and  even  less  seductive.'  This  sounds  very 
callous,  and  has  the  frigidity  of  a  voice  from  the  Polar  regions. 
But  though  Talleyrand  denounced  the  folly  of  the  heart  swaying 
the  mind,  he  was  not  without  human  sympathies,  and  his  rela 
tives  and  dependents  were  devoted  to  him. 

The  wonderful  invention  of  railways,  that  had  appeared  in 
England  only  a  few  years  previously,  made  very  little  impression 
on  France.  The  English  and  American  mind  was  thoroughly 
aroused  as  to  the  immense  results  of  this  new  means  of  com 
munication,  and  already  plans  were  on  foot  in  both  countries 
for  increasing  and  extending  them  as  fast  as  capital  could  be 
raised.  Whereas  it  struck  the  French  they  might  be  made  very 
useful  as  a  new  source  of  amusement  for  pleasure-seekers,  and 


478  Paris  Revisited. 


they  had  managed,  with  great  effort,  to  build  two  short  lines  of 
ten  and  twelve  miles  each,  to  convey  the  Parisians  out  to  the 
woods  of  St.  Germain  and  to  the  Palace  of  Versailles.  The  idea 
of  substituting  them  for  la  diligence  as  a  superior  mode  of  loco 
motion  seemed  simply  absurd,  and  the  suggestion  of  travelling 
at  twenty  miles  the  hour  filled  them  with  terror.  Some  bold 
speculators,  chiefly  English,  had  begun  building  a  railway  from 
Paris  to  Rouen,  about  eighty  miles  ;  but  the  difficulty  of  raising 
capital  was  so  great  that  the  enterprise  hung  fire,  and  the  shares 
were  two-thirds  below  their  par  value.  This  was  the  state  of 
things  when,  in  the  summer  of  1838,  the  King,  fully  compre 
hending  the  incalculable  advantages  to  the  country,  ordered  his 
Ministers  to  bring  the  subject  before  the  Legislature,  and  pro 
pose  a  network  of  railways  connecting  all  parts  of  France.  If 
constructed  by  the  Government,  it  was  alleged,  they  would  be 
built  better  and  cheaper,  and  the  fares  could  be  made  corre 
spondingly  lower.  A  tremendous  hubbub  ensued.  The  moment 
the  Government  displayed  its  confidence  in  this  novel  mode  of 
travel  and  transportation,  the  French  flew  to  the  conclusion  it 
must  be  a  safe  and  profitable  investment,  and  protested  loudly 
against  the  Government  monopolising  the  gains.  The  Repub 
lican  party  sagaciously  supported  the  Government  in  its  patriotic 
projects  ;  but  the  Government  majority  in  the  Chamber,  con 
sisting  of  all  the  great  capitalists  who  had  hitherto  held  aloof, 
voted  that  the  railways  should  be  built  by  joint-stock  companies. 
The  battle  raged  furiously  for  weeks,  and  at  last  the  Government 
was  forced  to  retire  from  the  field.  The  conflict  had  the  advan 
tage  of  arousing  the  attention  of  the  whole  country  to  the  intro 
duction  of  steam  on  land,  certain  to  be  attended  with  results  as 
extraordinary  as  its  use  had  proved  on  water.  Nothing  could 
illustrate  more  clearly  the  uncommercial  character  of  the  French 
mind  than  the  indifference  with  which  they  had  hitherto  regarded 
this  truly  marvellous  event.  The  bold  move  of  the  Government 
of  Louis  Philippe  to  enable  France  to  profit  promptly,  and  on  a 
grand  scale,  by  the  ingenious  device  of  the  English  engineer 
Stephenson  would  surely  hasten  the  day  when  travellers  would 
be  able  to  dispense  with  the  aid  of  the  slow  and  lumbering  dili 
gence,  and  reach  London  from  Paris  in  twelve  instead  of  thirty- 
six  hours,  as  hitherto. 

I  lost  little  time,  after  my  return  to  Paris,  in  calling  upon  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  whose  attractions  of  mind  and  person  had 


Paris  Revisited.  479 


been  in  nowise  effaced  by  the  few  months  that  had  elapsed  since 
I  saw  her.  My  welcome  was  so  cordial  that  I  had  every  reason 
to  think  she  had  decided  to  enrol  me  in  the  envied  circle  of  her 
chosen  friends.  The  more  I  saw  of  her,  the  deeper  grew  my 
admiration  and  regard.  For  an  Italian  woman  her  intellect  was 
of  a  very  superior  order.  She  had  read  much,  and  her  judgment 
was  unerring.  There  was  something  like  a  masculine  acuteness 
In  her  appreciation  of  all  kinds  of  literature.  She  detected 
fallacies  at  a  glance,  and  was  never  bewildered  by  sophistries, 
however  subtle.  The  French  romantic  literature  of  the  day  she 
disliked  for  its  exaggeration  and  mock-sentimentality.  She 
preferred  the  more  serious  writers,  and  praised  the  lucidity  of 
Thiers,  the  brilliancy  of  Lamartine,  the  sentertiousness  of 
Guizot.  She  admired  De  Tocqueville's  wonderful  \rork  on  the 
United  States,  and  questioned  me  closely  on  its  accuracy.  She 
had  none  of  the  austerity,  however,  or  pretension,  of  tk~  blue 
stocking.  Her'  nature  was  gentle  and  sympathetic,  and  her 
goodness  of  heart  revealed  itself  in  a  thousand  ways  and  ir  a 
thousand  things. 

I  visited  her  once  or  twice  every  week,  and  took  infinite 
delight  in  her  conversation.  She  spoke  usually  in  French,  of 
which  she  had  a  wonderful  command.  Sometimes  she  broke 
into  English,  and  expressed  herself  with  facility  and  elegance. 
Her  voice  was  musical,  and  a  certain  animation,  chastened  by  an 
innate  dignity  that  never  forsook  her,  lent  a  singular  charm  to 
all  she  said.  I  was  eager  to  have  a  chat  with  her  about  Lord 
Byron,  but  waited  till  my  intimacy  was  more  established.  At 
last,  one  evening,  I  asked  her  if  she  would  be  offended  if  I 
questioned  her  about  her  old  friend  the  illustrious  poet. 

c  No/  she  replied.  '  It  is  a  subject  I  rarely  touch  upon,  but  I 
will  make  an  exception  in  your  favour.' 

•*  You  were  very  young  when  you  met  him  ?'  I  remarked. 

'  Yes,  scarcely  sixteen.  Not  long  before,  I  had  been  forced 
into  a  marriage  with  an  old  man,  the  Count  Guiccioli,  whose 
wealth  made  him,  in  the  eyes  of  my  father,  a  desirable  match. 
We  were  living  in  Venice  when  Lord  Byron  established  his  resi 
dence  there,  and  soon  met  in  society.  My  husband  took  a  great 
liking  to  him,  and  he  became  a  frequent  guest  at  our  house.' 

She  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  continued  : 

4 1  confess  that  his  handsome  person,  distinguished  manners, 
and  brilliant  conversation  soon  made  a  deep  impress hr.,  and 


480  Paris  Revisited. 


before  I  was  aware  of  it  I  became  greatly  enamoured.  Though 
young  and  inexperienced — for  I  had  passed  my  life  in  a  convent 
almost  to  the  day  of  my  marriage — I  could  perceive  that  Byron 
had  conceived  a  strong  passion  for  me.' 

'  And  it  was  not  very  long,  I  infer,'  I  added,  with  a  smile, '  be 
fore  you  mutually  discovered  you  were  involved  in  the  meshes 
of  a  violent  attachment  that  neither  could  control.  This  was 
unfortunate,  as  both  of  you  were  married,  though  Lord  Byron 
had  abandoned  his  wife  after  a  short  and  incompatible  union/ 

'  It  was  unfortunate,'  said  the  Countess,  with  a  deep  sigh  ; 
'  for  Byron  and  I  both  believed  we  were  made  for  each  other, 
and  would  gladly  have  married  had  we  been  free  to  choose.' 

'  As  it  was,'  I  continued,  '  you  struggled  hard,  no  doubt,  to 
escape  the  complications  of  such  a  false  position  ?' 

*  Yes/  she  answered  ;  '  I  resisted  to  the  last.  For  nearly  a 
year  I  was  a  prey  to  intense  and  conflicting  emotions,  that 
almost  disturbed  my  reason,  and  quite  broke  down  my  health. 
My  husband  removed  me  from  Venice  to  my  native  town  of 
Ravenna ;  but  I  was  so  inconsolable  for  the  loss  of  Byron  that 
the  Count  urged  him  to  join  us  again,  which  of  course  he  was 
not  sorry  to  do/ 

'  But  in  Italy,'  I  observed,  '  your  social  customs  are  so  differ 
ent  from  the  English  that  no  exception  is  taken  to  a  liaison  that 
is  not  only  tolerated,  but  recognised  as  an  inoffensive  usage. 
Every  married  woman  in  Italy  has  her  cavaliere  servente  if  her 
attractions  can  secure  one.  This  arises  from  marriages  being 
decided  on  by  parents,  regardless  of  the  inclinations  of  their  chil 
dren,  as  your  own  was.  I  remember  a  letter  of  Lord  Byron  com 
menting  on  this  state  of  things.  He  wrote  :  "  The  women  marry 
for  their  parents  and  love  for  themselves.  They  exact  fidelity 
from  a  lover  as  a  debt  of  honour,  whilst  they  pay  the  husband 
as  a  tradesman,  or  not  at  all.  You  hear  a  person's  character, 
male  or  female,  canvassed,  not  as  depending  on  their  conduct 
to  their  husbands  and  wives,  but  to  their  lovers  or  mistresses.  It 
is  to  be  observed  that  while  they  do  all  this,  the  greatest  outward 
respect  is  paid  to  the  husbands,  not  only  by  the  ladies,  but  by 
their  serventi,  so  that  you  often  suppose  them  relations." ' 

'  Very  accurately  quoted,'  returned  the  Countess.  '  I  re 
member  the  letter  perfectly.  Yes,  there  is  a  freedom  of  man 
ners  in  Italy  that  the  English  world  denounce  very  fiercely ; 
but  from  what  I  have  seen  they  are  not  a  whit  better  than  other 


Paris  Revisited.  48 1 


people,  only  they  take  greater  pains  to  conceal  their  frailties, 
which  the  Italians  and  the  French  look  on  as  hypocrisy.  My 
case  was  a  very  distressing  one.  Byron  could  by  no  possibility 
obtain  a  divorce,  and  my  chance  was  just  as  hopeless.  He  was 
a  proud  sensitive  man,  and  chafed  under  a  position  we  both  felt 
to  be  intolerable,  yet  could  see  no  escape  from.  Byron  more 
than  once  proposed  I  should  take  to  flight ;  but  this  would 
have  been  such  a  violation  of  Italian  etiquette,  to  say  the  least, 
that  I  shrank  from  it.' 

'  Did  Lord  Byron  continue  his  residence  at  Ravenna  after 
your  recovery  ?'  I  inquired. 

1  Yes,'  replied  the  Countess, '  for  some  months.  When  I  was 
convalescent  my  husband  took  me  off  for  a  short  time  on  a  tour 
over  his  estates,  and  Byron  remained  behind  of  his  own  accord. 
He  used,  during  my  absence,  to  go  to  my  house  daily  for  several 
hours,  which  he  passed  in  writing  and  reading  in  my  rooms  or 
gardens.  If  you  like,  I  will  read  you  a  sort  of  memorandum  of 
his  state  of  mind,  which  he  wrote  on  a  blank  page  of  Corinne, 
one  of  my  pet  books.  I  have  preserved  this  record  as  a  precious 
token  of  his  sincere  attachment.' 

I  expressed  the  liveliest  curiosity  to  hear  it,  and  the  Countess 
went  to  her  library  in  search  of  the  book. 

Returning,  she  read  me  the  following,  and  was  good  enough 
to  give  me  a  copy : 

August  25,  1819. 

My  dearest  Teresa, — I  have  read  this  book  in  your  garden.  My 
love,  you  were  absent,  or  I  should  not  have  read  it.  It  is  a  favourite 
book  of  yours,  and  the  writer  was  a  friend  of  mine.*  You  will  not  un 
derstand  these  English  words,  and  others  will  not  understand  them, 
which  is  the  reason  I  have  not  scrawled  them  in  Italian.  But  you  will 
recognise  the  handwriting  of  him  who  passionately  loves  you,  and  you 
will  divine  that  over  a  book  which  is  yours  he  could  only  think  of  love. 
In  that  word,  beautiful  in  all  languages,  but  most  so  in  yours — amor 
mio — is  comprised  my  existence  here  and  hereafter.  I  feel  I  exist  here, 
and  fear  I  shall  exist  hereafter — to  what  purpose  you  will  decide ;  my 
destiny  rests  with  you,  and  you  are  a  woman,  seventeen  years  of  age, 
and  only  two  out  of  a  convent.  I  wish  you  had  stayed  there,  with  all 
rny  heart ;  or  at  least  that  I  had  never  met  you  in  your  married  state. 
But  all  this  is  now  too  late.  I  love  you,  and  you  love  me — at  least  you 
say  so,  and  act  as  if  you  did  so ;  which  last  is  a  great  consolation,  in  all 

*  Madame  de  Stael. 

II 


482  Paris  Revisited. 


events.  But  I  more  than  love  you,  and  cannot  cease  to  love  you.  Think 
of  me  sometimes,  when  the  Alps  and  the  ocean  divide  us ;  but  they 
never  will  unless  you  wish  it. 

BYRON. 

As  the  Countess  read  these  touching  words  her  eyes  filled 
with  tears,  and  her  voice  choked  with  emotion.  I,  too,  was  not 
a  little  affected  by  this  simple  and  ardent  avowal  of  an  affection 
that  evidently  knew  no  bounds.  None  who  have  ever  known  any 
thing  of  the  pangs  of  an  ill-starred  love  can  doubt  that  this  was  a 
genuine  outburst  of  the  great  poet's  infatuation  for  his  idol. 

After  a  short  pause,  I  asked  the  Countess  what  happened  on 
the  return  to  her  home. 

'  I  found  Byron,'  she  responded,  '  in  a  very  unhappy  and  fretful 
state.  He  could  not  bear  what  seemed  to  him  an  equivocal,  if 
not  degrading,  position.  He  insisted,  as  a  positive  proof  of  my 
devotion,  that  I  should  break  off  all  relations  with  my  aged  hus 
band  ;  and  I  was  only  too  ready  to  comply  with  his  wishes.*  I 
appealed  to  my  family  to  assist  me  in  obtaining  from  the  Pope 
a  final  separation  from  the  Count  Guiccioli  ;  and,  finding  that 
my  resolution  was  irrevocable,  they  at  last  consented  to  do  so. 
During  this  trying  interval  Byron  thought  it  prudent  to  leave 
Ravenna.  You  can  imagine  my  harassing  anxiety  when  I  heard 
that,  if  the  Pope  granted  the  separation,  he  would  probably  do 
so  only  on  condition  that  I  retired  for  life  to  a  convent.  The 
risk  of  this  filled  Byron  with  the  utmost  alarm.  At  the  end  of 
November,  when  my  fate  was  still  in  the  balance,  I  received  this 
letter  from  him.' 

Taking  it  from  a  casket  near  at  hand,  she  read  it : 

Dearest  Teresa, — You  are,  and  ever  will  be,  my  first  thought.  But 
at  this  moment  I  am  in  a  most  dreadful  state,  not  knowing  which  way 
to  decide :  on  the  one  hand  fearing  that  I  should  compromise  you  for 
ever'  by  my  return  to  Ravenna ;  and  on  the  other  dreading  I  may  lose 
you,  and  myself  too,  and  all  that  I  have  ever  known  or  tasted  of  happi 
ness,  by  never  seeing  you  more.  I  pray,  I  implore  you  to  be  comforted, 
and  to  believe  I  cannot  cease  to  love  you  but  with  my  life. 

BYRON. 

'  Happily,'  I  rejoined,  'you  succeeded  in  obtaining  the  sepa 
ration  without  the  fearful  penalty  you  apprehended.' 

*  In  his  Letters  from  Italy  Shelley  said  the  Countess  Guiccioli  made  a  great 
pecuniary  sacrifice  in  leaving  her  husband,  as  his  income  was  i2o,ooo/.  a  year — 
6co,ooo  dollars. 


Paris  Revisited.  485 


'  Yes,'  replied  the  Countess.  '  The  influence  of  my  family  and 
friends  was  strong  enough  to  stave  it  off;  but  not  without  great 
effort.' 

'  And  after  that,  if  I  remember,  your  relations  with  Byron 
continued  unclouded  till  he  gave  way  to  his  chivalric  impulses 
for  the  desperate  cause  of  Greece  ?' 

'  Yes/  she  said  feelingly  ;  '  that  was  the  happiest  period  of 
my  life ;  and  it  is  to  me  a  profound  consolation  to  think  my 
influence  had  a  benign  effect  on  Byron's  wild  and  stormy 
character.  To  show  I  do  not  exaggerate  my  ascendency,  I  will 
read  you  an  extract  from  his  Diary,  in  January  1821.' 

Taking  up  the  volume,  she  read  : 

1 1  carried  Teresa  the  Italian  translation  of  Grillparzer's  Sappho^ 
which  she  promises  to  read.  She  quarrelled  with  me  because  I  said 
that  love  was  not  the  loftiest  theme  for  true  tragedy ;  and  having  the 
advantage  of  her  native  language,  and  natural  female  eloquence,  she 
overcame  my  poorer  arguments.  I  believe  she  was  right.  I  must  put 
more  love  into  Sardanapalus  than  I  intended.' 

'  Most  conclusive  evidence,'  I  added,  '  that  he  would  take  ad 
vice  from  you  on  literary  topics  when  he  would  listen  to  no  one 
else.  Is  it  true  that  you  told  him  once  that "  You  would  rather 
have,  a  year's  fame  of  Childe  Harold  than  an  immortality  of  Don 
Juan"  T 

'Yes,'  she  answered.  *  I  did  not  approve  of  the  free  and,  as 
I  thought,  too  voluptuous  style  of  that  very  beautiful  poem.' 

'  If  any  more  testimony  were  needed,  Countess,'  I  continued, 
'  of  the  wholesome  influence  you  wielded  over  this  gifted  man, 
it  may  be  found  in  Shelley's  letters,  written  from  Ravenna  in  the 
summer  of  1821.  In  one  of  them  that  I  recollect  he  said,  "  Lord 
Byron  is  improved  in  every  respect — in  genius,  in  temper,  in  moral 
views,  in  health,  in  happiness.  His  connection  with  la  Guiccioli 
has  been  an  inestimable  benefit  to  him."  ' 

'Ah,  poor  Shelley!'  ejaculated  the  Countess;  'what  a  sad 
fate  was  his !  I  remember  well  his  generous  appreciation/ 

'  One  question  more,  Countess,  and  I  have  done.  Is  it  true 
that  you  urged  Byron,  in  the  summer  of  1823,  to  take  up  arms 
for  the  unfortunate  Greeks  ?' 

'  Alas,  I  did,'  she  replied,  '  little  dreaming  it  would  cost  him 
his  precious  life.  I  saw  how  deeply  he  was  interested  in  their 
glorious  struggle,  and  that  he  longed  to  encourage  them  by  his 


484  Paris  Revisited. 


presence  and   influence.      Never  believing   he  would  incur  any 
risk,  I  not  only  encouraged  but  applauded  his  heroic  purpose. 
My  brother  accompanied  him,  and  brought  me  back,  the  follow 
ing  spring,  the  dreadful  tidings  of  his  death/ 
She  paused,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

*  I  am  sorry,'  I  expostulated,  '  to  have  awakened  such  pain 
ful  recollections.     Pray  forgive  me/ 

'  It  is  I  who  should  ask  you  to  excuse  my  weakness,'  she 
murmured,  in  a  plaintive  tone,  extending  her  beautiful  hand, 
which  I  clasped  affectionately. 

'  I  cannot  bid  you  good-night/  I  said,  on  rising  to  go,  '  with 
out  expressing  my  deep  sense  of  obligation.  These  thrilling 
details  from  your  lips  of  the  illustrious  poet  have  impressed  me 
more  than  I  can  describe,  and  I  shall  never  forget  your  goodness/ 

'  I  have  said  more/  was  her  reply,  '  than  I  intended.  The 
subject  is  in  every  way  painful  to  me;  but  I  have  no  regrets  if 
you  are  gratified/ 

For  hours  after  I  left  this  interesting  woman  my  mind  was 
wholly  absorbed  by  the  moving  story  she  had  related.  Nothing 
I  had  ever  read  of  it  equalled  in  fascination  the  simple  recital 
of  her  relations  with  Byron. 

That  he  ardently  loved  her  was  beyond  all  question.  This 
I  had  never  been  so  convinced  of  till  now.  That  she  was  in 
every  respect  worthy  of  his  attachment  was  equally  certain.  Save 
for  Byron's  respect  for  her,  and  her  ancient  family,  he  would 
doubtless  have  embalmed  his  passion  in  immortal  verse  that 
would  have  soared  beyond  Petrarch's  poetical  adoration  of  his 
Laura.* 

Not  many  days  after  this  the  Countess  Guiccioli  left  Paris  on 
her  usual  summer  jaunt ;  and  a  fortnight  later  I  received  the  fol 
lowing  letter,  which  will  be  read  with  interest,  since  it  portrays 
her  amiable  disposition  as  well  as  her  unfading  veneration  for 
the  memory  of  Byron  : 

*  The  only  allusion  to  her  in  song  that  I  can  recall  is  found  in  his  charming 
*  Stanzas  to  the  Po,'  from  which  I  quote  the  following  lines: 

'Her  bright  eyes  will  be  imaged  on  thy  stream, 

Yes  !  they  will  meet  the  wave  I  gaze  on  now  ; 
Mine  cannot  witness,  even  in  a  dream, 

That  happy  wave  repass  me  in  its  flow. 
The  wave  that  bears  my  tears  returns  no  more : 

Will  she  return  by  whom  that  wave  shall  sweep? 
Both  tread  thy  banks,  both  wander  on  thy  shore — 

I  by  thy  source,  she  by  the  dark-blue  deep.' 


Paris  Revisited.  485 


Aix-les-Bains,  Savoy,  September  7,  1838. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — Your  letter,  so  full  of  amiable  expressions  of  kind 
and  noble  sentiments,  gave  me  the  very  greatest  pleasure.  I  only  re 
ceived  it  recently,  because  my  stay  amongst  the  valleys  and  lakes  of  the 
Oberland  was  prolonged  beyond  my  original  intentions.  I  may  also  add 
that  I  nearly  missed  it,  for  I  only  crossed  Geneva  on  my  way  here  ;  but 
in  passing  through  the  town  I  stopped  my  carriage  at  the  post-office, 
having  a  presentiment  that  I  might  find  the  promised  letter.  I  did  find 
it,  and  it  has  proved  a  cheering  and  soothing  companion  on  my  journey. 
Pray  let  this  explanation  justify  my  tardiness  in  writing  to  you.  I  shall 
only  remain  here  to  take  a  few  baths  and  to  visit  the  sights  of  this  part 
of  Savoy.  I  can  easily  do  so  without  renouncing  my  predilection  for 
solitude  and  the  repose  of  country  life,  as  I  have  come  here  so  late  that 
I  have  escaped,  as  I  wished,  the  companionship  of  the  noisy  world, 
which  has  entirely  disappeared  within  these  last  few  days.  As  soon  as 
I  have  had  a  week  or  so  at  the  baths  I  shall  go  to  Italy.  I  have  de 
cided  on  this  since  receiving  important  letters  from  my  family,  none  of 
whom  I  have  seen  for  more  than  four  years.  I  shall  travel  by  Mont 
C£nis,  and  arrive  at  the  end  of  September  at  the  country  seat  of  my 
father  in  Romagna,  where  I  shall  remain  with  my  family  during  October. 
At  the  commencement  of  November  I  shall  return  to  Paris,  where  I  hope 
to  find  you  in  good  health,  and  always  the  same  cordial  and  devoted 
friend  as  hitherto.  Pray  excuse,  my  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  my  writing  in 
French.  It  is  the  most  familiar  language  to  me  after  my  own,  and  when 
I  write  it  seems  to  flow  unconsciously  from  my  pen.  By  this  time,  also, 
you  must  know  French  as  well  as  your  own  language,  and  are  doubtless 
pleased  to  exercise  yourself  in  it. 

The  article  on  Lady  Blessington's  works  seems,  from  what  you  say, 
to  be  very  just.  Piquancy  and  cleverness  are  her  best  titles  to  public 
notice  as  an  authoress.  Of  course,  the  article  was  not  intended  to  be  of 
a  flattering  nature — but  no  doubt  she  gave  it  a  flattering  interpretation. 
Our  self-esteem  is  never  wanting  or  inadequate  on  such  occasions.  As 
for  the  article  in  the  American  paper  you  sent  me  on  Lord  Byron,  it  is 
only  one  of  the  thousand  and  more  absurdities  that  have  been  reported 
about  him.  But  the  day  of  justice  will  come,  if  God  only  permits  me 
to  live  until  I  can  throw  my  testimony  into  the  urn  of  eternity.  When 
that  is  done  I  shall  gladly  sing  my  Nunc  dimittis. 

Good-bye,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  and  keep  my  place  intact  in  your 
memory,  since  you  are  carefully  treasured  in  mine. — Believe  me  very 
sincerely  votre  devou'ee, 

T.  GUICCIOLI. 

If  I  can  do  anything  for  you  in  Italy  pray  write  to  me.  My  address 
will  be,  Ravenna,  Papal  States. 


CHAPTER  L. 

PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 
MR.  j.  G.  BENNETT'S  ARRIVAL — DINNER  AT  SURESNES — THE  AMERICAN  BELLES — 

A  THEATRICAL  SENSATION — AN  INSURRECTION. 

MY  late  fellow-passenger  in  the  '  Sirius/  Mr.  J.  G.  Bennett,  made 
his  appearance  in  Paris,  as  promised,  towards  the  end  of  July. 
He  had  never  seen  it  before,  and  was  quite  carried  away  by  its 
novelty  and  splendour.  The  gay  and  somewhat  mocking  spirit 
of  the  French  was  in  harmony  with  his  own  disposition,  and  under 
its  influence  he  became  more  genial  than  I  had  found  him  on 
shipboard.  He  was  eager  to  see  all  the  sights,  and  I  readily  vo 
lunteered  my  services  as  his  guide  and  mentor.  We  spent  days 
together  ransacking  the  wonders  of  the  town,  and  my  original 
predilection  for  him  grew  rapidly  into  a  settled  liking.  I  was 
more  and  more  struck  by  his  original  mind,  his  vivacious  fancy, 
and  a  certain  bantering  humour  entirely  devoid  of  malice.  He 
contemplated  with  interest  the  imposing  monuments  of  Paris, 
enjoyed  its  masterpieces  of  art,  and  attentively  examined  its  rapid 
advance  in  modern  innovations.  The  people  themselves,  however,, 
their  traits,  habits,  and  amusements,  seemed  especially  to  attract 
and  divert  him.  We  sympathised  heartily  in  our  admiration  of  the 
French,  and  both  agreed  that  in  many  respects  they  resembled 
the  Americans  more  than  any  other  nation.  Our  daily  inter 
course  brought  all  phases  of  his  mind  and  character  under  my 
observation,  and  I  had  rarely  met  any  one  who  impressed  me 
more  favourably.  His  unaffected  manner  and  dignified  deport 
ment  were  as  conciliatory  as  his  sound  and  practical  views  on 
all  subjects  were  edifying.  Though  an  earnest  and  thoughtful 
man  in  the  main,  he  could  not  suppress  an  irresistible  tendency 
to  make  a  jest  of  the  vagaries  of  mankind.  One  might  suppose 
he  regarded  the  world  as  little  other  than  a  stupendous  joke,  and 
that  there  was  nothing  serious  in  mortality.  There  was  none, 
however,  of  the  Diogenes  in  his  composition.  His  philosophy 
was  always  sportive,  never  cynical  or  morose. 

Though  far  from  a  lonely  man,  he  never  cared  for  society  in 


Paris  Revisited.  487 


the  general  sense.  Perhaps  he  feared  its  influence  on  his  future 
plans  in  journalism.  He  was  resolutely  bent  on  establishing  an 
organ  of  the  most  independent  character,  above  the  sway  or  dic 
tation  of  parties  and  coteries.  Without  affecting  to  be  indifferent 
to  prejudice  and  abuse,  he  was  resolved  to  defy  both,  as  he  de 
clared  more  than  once,  with  a  smile.  His  courage  and  determi 
nation  filled  me  with  wonder,  and  all  the  more  that  I  was  some 
what  deficient  in  these  virile  ingredients.  Yet,  with  all  this  iron 
force  of  character,  there  lurked  underneath  a  keen  sensibility,  of 
which  I  had  an  unexpected  proof  one  day  when,  among  other 
sights,  we  went  to  see  a  combat  des  animaux,  which  consisted  of 
furious  conflicts  between  animals  of  ferocious  natures.  The  exhi 
bition  was  certainly  repulsive,  and  we  had  not  been  present  over 
ten  minutes  before  my  friend  rose,  declaring  it  was  too  odious 
to  witness,  which  was  plainly  revealed  in  his  countenance.  He 
turned  ghastly  pale,  and  disgust  overspread  every  feature.  It 
was  strange  to  me,  after  this,  to  hear  him  denounced  by  his 
opponents  in  the  press  as  a  heartless  and  pitiless  man. 

I  proposed  to  him  to  pay  a  visit  to  our  Minister,  General  Cass, 
to  whom  he  brought  an  introduction,  but  had  not  intended  to 
present  it.  We  called,  however,  on  our  genial  Envoy,  who  gave 
a  hearty  welcome  to  the  energetic  editor.  We  dined  with  him  a 
few  days  later. 

Before  leaving  Paris,  Mr.  Bennett  expressed  a  wish  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  our  American  banker,  Mr.  Welles. 

'  It  will  give  me  great  pleasure,'  I  said  ;  '  but  he  is  an  eccen 
tric  man,  and  I  will  not  guarantee  his  good  behaviour.  Besides, 
you  have  taken  such  liberties  with  the  financial  craft,  and  upset 
so  many  of  their  little  games,  that  he  may  decline  to  meet  you 
at  all.  Will  you  risk  it?' 

4  Certainly,'  he  said.  '  He  is  worth  knowing.  I  sha'n't  mind 
his  pranks.' 

The  next  day  we  went  to  his  counting-house,  in  the  Place  St. 
George,  and,  mounting  its  narrow  staircase,  we  met  Mr.  Welles 
coming  down. 

'  I  am  in  a  hurry,'  he  said,  in  his  abrupt  way.  *  I'm  going  to 
the  Bourse.  What  do  you  want  ?' 

'  Only  wish  to  present  a  friend  leaving  for  New  York/ 

1  Who  is  he  ?'  asked  the  cautious  banker,  looking  hard  at  my 
companion,  who  stood  tranquilly  beside  me. 

'Mr.  Bennett,  of  the  New  York  Herald' 


4 88  Paris  Revisited. 


The  banker  was  electrified,  and  he  glared  for  a  moment  with 
out  saying  a  word.  Then,  wheeling  about,  he  added  gruffly, 

*  Come  up-stairs.' 

We  entered  his  sanctum  and  sat  down.  Mr.  Welles  paced 
up  and  down  in  his  usual  fashion,  evidently  in  a  perturbed  state 
of  mind. 

'  You  are  leaving  Paris  ?'  at  length  he  remarked,  with  a  side- 
look  at  Mr.  B. 

( In  a  few  days,'  was  the  laconic  answer. 

I  felt  uneasy  at  the  situation,  and  observed  that '  Mr.  Bennett 
was  reluctant  to  quit  Paris  without  meeting  so  well  known  an 
American  as  the  head  of  the  house  of  Welles  &  Co.' 

*  Ah  !'  was  the  only  reply,  which  sounded  like  a  grunt. 
'Where  are  you  living  ?'  demanded  the  banker,  after  a  pause, 

never  ceasing  his  trot. 

'  At  the  H6tel  Montmorency,'  answered  the  immovable  Ben 
nett,  who  seemed  equal  to  the  crisis. 

After  a  few  more  turns,  with  occasional  glances  at  his  unex 
pected  visitor,  he  growled,  *  Will  see  you  again,'  and  took  up 
his  hat.  On  this  signal  we  departed. 

'  What  did  I  tell  you  ?'  I  observed,  when  we  reached  the 
street.  '  Is  he  not  an  oddity  ?' 

1  Very  droll  indeed,'  replied  Bennett,  laughing.  '  I  wouldn't 
have  missed  it  for  anything.' 

The  next  day,  on  calling  on  my  friend,  he  exclaimed, 

*  I  have  an  invitation  from  that  funny  man  Welles  to  dine 
with  him  on  Sunday  next,  at  Suresnes.' 

*  So  have  I/  was  my  answer  ;  '  and  I  am  glad  of  it,  as  it  shows 
he  bears  no  malice  for  the  shock  I  gave  him.    It  also  proves  that 
your  self-possession  under  fire  made  a  favourable  impression.     I 
congratulate  you  on  the  prospect  of  meeting  Mrs.  Welles,decidedly 
one  of  the  most  elegant  women  of  her  day.' 

The  weather  was  lovely  as  we  drove  out  to  the  luxurious 
villa  of  Mr.  Welles,  on  the  banks  of  the  Seine,  some  five  miles 
from  Paris.  He  had  bought  it  for  a  song,  just  after  the  Re 
volution  of  1 830,  when  its  owner,  a  grand  seigneur,  took  fright, 
and  sold  it  to  the  first  bidder.  Mr.  Bennett  was  in  ecstasy  with 
the  beauty  of  the  grounds  as  we  rattled  up  to  the  house.  There 
was  a  large  company  assembled.  We  met  our  whimsical  host  on 
our  arrival,  who  simply  bobbed  his  head  at  us  and  vanished,  leav 
ing  us  in  the  hands  of  Providence.  Bennett  was  more  amused 


Paris  Revisited.  489 


than  ever.  We  were  introduced  to  nobody,  though  I  recognised 
several  acquaintances — the  Corbins,  the  Gibbeses,  and  that  very 
charming  woman  Mrs.  A.  Thorndike  of  Boston.  The  dinner  was 
even  more  recherM  than  usual,  and  the  wines  of  superlative 
merit.  I  half  suspected  our  generous  Amphitryon  meant  to 
astonish  his  New  York  guest  by  the  rare  excellence  of  his  cave. 
On  returning  to  the  salons  I  whispered  to  Mrs.  Welles,  who  was 
superbly  dressed,  and  never  looked  handsomer, 

'  Pray  give  me  ten  minutes  apart.  A  friend  of  mine  is  eager 
for  a  little  chat  with  you,  his  last  opportunity.' 

She  smiled  significantly,  for  though  Mr.  Bennett  had  not  yet 
been  introduced  she  was  evidently  aware  of  his  presence. 

*  Come  now,  then/  she  replied,  and  led  the  way  to  a  splendid 
apartment  opening  on  the  grounds. 

Taking  my  companion  by  the  arm,  we  followed  her.  As  we 
seated  ourselves  I  remarked  that, 

'  It  would  have  been  a  dire  disappointment  to  my  friend  Mr. 
Bennett  if  he  had  gone  away  without  assuring  his  affable  hostess 
of  his  great  delight  at  meeting  her.' 

With  a  graceful  recognition  of  the  compliment,  Mrs.  Welles 
then  began  conversing  in  her  piquant  way,  and,  as  I  anticipated, 
her  rare  intelligence,  tact,  and  grace  completely  fascinated  her 
guest.  He  responded  with  unusual  animation  and  gallantry, 
evidently  interesting  his  new  acquaintance,  for  she  prolonged 
the  sitting  for  nearly  an  hour. 

On  our  way  home  Mr.  Bennett  could  talk  of  nothing  save 
Mrs.  Welles,  her  beauty,  wit,  and  unbounded  charms. 

'  I  should  like,'  he  declared,  '  of  all  things,  to  give  way  to  my 
enthusiasm,  and  write  my  impressions  in  my  next  letter  to  the 
Herald,  of  course  suppressing  her  name.' 

'  Do  so  by  all  means,'  I  said  ;  '  she  is  a  perfect  woman  of  the 
world,  and  would  appreciate  your  homage,  that  she  would  not 
fail  to  detect  was  genuine.  No  pretty  woman  is  ever  offended  at 
honest  admiration.' 

'  If  I  had  not  abandoned  poetry,'  he  exclaimed,  '  I  would  give 
way  to  the  inspirations  she  has  aroused.  What  an  adorable 
woman  !' 

In  this  strain  he  continued  to  express  his  admiration  till  we 
parted. 

His  last  day  in  Paris  we  dined  together,  and  talked  of  the 
Herald. 


490  Paris  Revisited. 


f I  mean  to  make  it,'  he  declared  emphatically, '  the  leading 
journal  of  the  country.' 

*  No  difficult  matter/  I  returned.     '  Your  wit  has  made  it  the 
most  readable  already.' 

'  Ah,'  he  continued,  '  I  contemplate  a  more  solid  basis  than 
that.  My  jokes  are  mere  sprats  to  catch  the  gudgeons.  Our 
press  has  strangely  neglected  its  real  mission,  which  is  to  obtain 
the  news  of  the  day.  This  is  the  vital  principle,  the  end  and  aim, 
of  journalism.  The  Americans  are  a  practical  people.  They  care 
nothing  for  the  opinions  of  editors,  or  their  political  squabbles. 
They  want  information,  and  plenty  of  it,  of  what  is  passing  in  the 
world.  Whilst  my  rivals  waste  their  time  abusing  me,  I  will  ran 
sack  the  globe  for  news  ;  and  some  fine  day  the  party  organs 
will  find  their  vocation  gone.' 

*  No  doubt  of  it,'  I  answered,  sipping  my  Burgundy.     '  Your 
industry,  vigilance,  and  journalistic  acumen  make  your  triumph 
inevitable.     I  drink  to  the  success  and  power  of  the  Herald' 

'  Nonsense  !'  he  retorted,  rather  contemptuously.  '  The  press 
has  no  power,  especially  in  the  United  States.  Public  opinion  is 
the  only  power  there,  and  the  wisest  editor  is  he  who  keeps  in  its 
wake.  It  is  dangerous  to  anticipate  it  a  single  day.' 

We  separated  sworn  friends,  and  I  promised  to  send  him  all 
the  news  that  fell  in  my  way. 

1 1  want  nothing  else,'  were  his  last  words. 

Paris  was  undergoing  a  theatrical  sensation.  An  actress  of 
extraordinary  genius  had  thrown  the  town  into  wild  commotion. 
By  her  marvellous  talent  this  youthful  prodigy,  named  Elizabeth 
Rachel,  had  revived  the  forgotten  tragedies  of  Racine  and  Cor- 
neille.  What  was  strange,  she  had  appeared  in  the  previous 
June,  and  played  for  three  months  to  empty  benches.  The  mere 
name  of  one  of  Racine's  obsolete  plays  on  the  bills,  whose  he 
roine  was  represented  by  an  unknown  debutante,  was  enough  to 
deter  the  most  inveterate  playgoer.  At  last  a  great  critic,  con 
vinced  of  her  matchless  powers,  announced,  in  his  grandest  style, 
that  a  phenomenon  had  appeared,  and  that  classical  tragedy 
might  once  more  raise  its  head. 

*  She  has  restored  to  the  dead,  but  imperishable,  chef-d'ceuvres 
of  our  language,'  cried  Jules  Janin,  'life,  thought,  movement, 
passion,  interest.     It  is  an  incomprehensible  feat,  but  a  fact' 

All  the  world  rushed  to  the  neglected  Theatre  Frangais,  filled 
with  doubt  and  curiosity,  and  came  away  electrified.  This  re- 


Paris  Revisited.  491 


volution  was  achieved  by  a  girl  of  eighteen,  striking  rather  than 
handsome.  She  owed  comparatively  little  to  physical  aids  :  tall, 
slender,  a  narrow  chest,  an  unsymmetrical  form,  an  ordinary  phy 
siognomy,  diminutive  features,  small  eyes,  though  deep-set  and 
expressive.  Her  voice,  however,  was  remarkable  in  volume  and 
variety  of  intonation,  with  exceeding  grace  of  gesture  and  atti 
tude.  Her  articulation  was  also  singularly  distinct  and  effective. 
Her  success  in  the  delineation  of  the  stronger  passions  was  never 
surpassed.  Despair,  hatred,  pride,  irony,  disdain,  were  exhibited 
with  such  earnestness  and  truth  as  to  appal  the  spectator.  Her 
chief  trait  was  intensity  of  expression,  and  some  of  her  greatest 
effects  were  produced  in  a  low  voice,  with  clenched  hands  and  a 
withering  look.  Her  acting  in  some  of  her  favourite  roles  was 
really  beyond  description  or  panegyric.  She  laboured  incessantly 
at  her  art ;  and  even  when  considered  perfect  at  rehearsal  would 
retire  to  the  house  of  her  professor  and  recite  passage  after  pass 
age,  seeking  to  discover  some  new  point  or  neglected  beauty  of 
expression.  But  no  study,  however  conscientious  or  sustained, 
could  have  arrived  at  such  results.  Genius  alone,  the  mens 
divinior,  could  give  such  thrilling  vividness  to  a  word,  a  glance, 
a  gesture.  On  the  stage  she  was  a  creature  of  inspiration,  and 
frequently  bewildered  the  actors  and  astounded  the  audience  by 
"ome  original  creation  she  had  never  planned  or  contemplated. 

Her  history  was  romantic.  The  daughter  of  poor  ped 
lars,  and  actually  born  on  the  high-road  during  one  of  their 
tramps,  her  youth  was  passed  in  utter  destitution,  and  she 
picked  up  a  meagre  pittance  singing  in  the  cafe's  of  Lyons. 
Her  intention  was  to  become  a  vocalist ;  but  her  voice  was 
pronounced  deficient.  She  then  studied  for  the  stage,  and 
appeared  at  a  second-class  theatre  in  Paris,  but  attracted  no 
notice.  Undismayed,  and  impelled  more  by  instinct  than  con 
viction,  she  persisted,  and  was  finally  recognised  as  the  very  in 
carnation  of  the  tragic  Muse.  Emerging  from  "so  low  a  station, 
with  associations  of  the  most  vulgar  kind,  it  would  have  been 
natural  if  her  tone  and  manners  corresponded  with  her  humble 
origin.  On  the  contrary,  her  bearing  in  society  was  easy,  and  even 
distingue,  and  though  never  educated,  ignorant  of  literature,  art, 
science,  of  everything,  yet  her  native  intellect  supplied  all  defi 
ciencies.  She  was  often  known  to  say  the  wittiest  things,  and  to 
utter  repartees  full  of  point.  Count  Mole",  the  Prime  Minister, 
in  a  moment  of  enthusiasm,  said  to  her : 


492  Paris  Revisited. 

'  Mademoiselle,  you  have  saved  the  French  language.' 

She  returned  the  compliment  with  a  low  curtsey,  and  whis 
pered  to  a  friend, 

'  That  is  all  the  more  strange,  since  I  never  knew  it* 

What  effect  on  her  character  the  torrent  of  homage  and 
admiration  would  produce  remained  to  be  seen.  It  was  a  trying 
ordeal  to  one  sprung  from  such  depths  into  the  dazzling  glare 
of  such  renown.  Her  kindness  of  heart  was  still  untouched,  as 
the  following  anecdote  proves. 

One  night  she  was  leaving  the  opera-house,  and  about  en 
tering  her  carriage,  when  a  girl  with  a  basket  of  oranges  on  her 
arm  recognised  a  former  companion  under  her  luxurious  attire, 
Involuntarily  she  exclaimed, (  Rachel !  Rachel !'  and  ran  up  to  her. 

The  great  tragedienne  turned  round,  and  recalled  the  features 
of  one  of  her  old  friends  of  the  street. 

*  Ah,  Marie,'  she  responded  playfully,  '  is  it  you  ?  How  goes 
business  ?' 

Putting  a  gold  piece  in  her  hand,  Rachel  drove  off,  leaving 
her  old  comrade  in  the  orange  trade  dumb  with  amazement. 

Another  anecdote,  hardly  less  piquant,  was  in  circulation. 
Some  months  previously,  when  she  thought  herself  ready  for  the 
ordeal,  she  called  on  M.  PreVost,  the  secretary  of  the  Theatre 
Frangais,  and  made  known  her  aspirations.  Regarding  her  frail 
form  and  unattractive  appearance  with  astonishment,  he  replied, 

'  Ah,  my  poor  child,  go  and  sell  bouquets — that's  more  in 
your  line.' 

On  one  of  her  nights  of  triumph  she  picked  up  the  wreaths 
and  flowers  showered  on  her  from  all  sides,  and  smilingly  ap~ 
proached  the  supercilious  secretary. 

'  You  see,'  she  said,  '  I  have  taken  your  advice,  and  have  em 
barked  in  the  flower  business.  Will  you  buy  a  bouquet  ?' 

Among  my  favourite  resorts  during  the  winter  was  the  resi 
dence  of  our  Minister,  General  Cass.  He  occupied  a  splendid 
mansion  in  the  Avenue  Matignon,  and  his  charming  daughters 
dispensed  the  hospitalities  of  the  Legation  with  unaffected  grace 
and  dignity.  Soirees  dansantes  were  of  frequent  occurrence,  and 
were  thronged  by  the  tlite  of  all  nationalities.  The  American 
belles  bore  off  the  palm  for  beauty  and  sprightliness.  There 
were  none  to  contest  the  claims  of  Virginia  Scott,  Rebecca 
Thorndike,  and  Louisa  Mott — the  first  a  perfect  blonde,  with 
classical  features  and  matchless  form.  There  was  a  spice  of 


Paris  Revisited. 


493 


hauteur  in  her  manner  in  nowise  repelling.  The  second,  with 
her  dark  hair,  hazel  eyes,  and  faultless  symmetry,  was  no  less 
attractive.  The  last,  though  considered  by  some,  perhaps,  less 
beautiful  than  her  rivals,  was  wonderfully  liked  for  her  pleasing 
expression  and  winning  manners.  All  three  were  constantly 
surrounded  by  a  crowd  of  admirers,  and  to  see  them  tripping 
through  the  mazes  of  a  quadrille,  one  felt  inclined  to  exclaim  to 
each: 

'  When  you  do  dance,  I  wish  you 
A  wave  o'  th*  sea,  that  you  might  ever  do 
Nothing  but  that.' 

I  was  on  intimate  terms  with  our  affable  Minister,  and  took 
great  delight  in  his  urbane  society  and  racy  conversation.  I 
often  sent  him  a  copy  of  the  New  York  Herald,  which  reached 
me  regularly,  and  which  he  read  with  lively  zest,  as  the  following 
note  attests : 

February  10,  1839. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  return  the  Herald  you  were  good  enough  to 
send  to  me,  and  which  I  am  always  glad  to  see.  It  contains  so  much 
that  is  graphic  and  piquant  that  I  devour  it  when  I  get  it.  Bennett 
is  certainly  a  wonderful  fellow,  and  possesses  powers  of  observation  and 
of  writing  which  are  not  often  combined  in  the  same  person. — With 
much  regard  most  truly  yours, 

LEWIS  CASS. 

Avenue  Matignon,  17. 

I  had  always  been  longing  to  witness  a  Parisian  insurrection, 
which  I  thought  must  be  a  spectacle  of  the  most  spirit-stirring 
description.  No  people  in  the  world  could  vie  with  the  French 
in  these  sanguinary  feats ;  and  frequent  experiments  had  given 
them  such  dexterity  and  sang-froid  in  their  organisation  that 
they  were  carried  out  with  the  scientific  precision  of  a  pitched 
battle.  The  strategic  points  were  carefully  selected,  and  the 
plans  of  attack  and  defence  were  all  maturely  settled.  At 
length  an  opportunity  presented  itself  in  the  spring  of  1839. 
For  months  previously  the  Chamber  of  Deputies  had  been  the 
scene  of  desperate  efforts  by  the  politicians  out  of  office,  headed 
by  Thiers  and  Guizot,  to  overturn  the  Ministry  of  Count  Mold 
At  last  the  King  dissolved  the  Chamber  ;  and  a  violent  electoral 
struggle  threw  the  country  into  great  commotion.  The  revolu 
tionary  party  thought  this  state  of  things  so  favourable  that  it 
set  to  work  actively,  in  countless  garrets,  and  cellars,  preparing 
an  insurrection,  in  which  it  was  hoped  the  giddy  populace  of 


494  Paris  Revisited. 


Paris  might  be  induced  to  join.  The  ringleaders,  Barbes,  Ber 
nard,  and  Blanqui,*  were  all  determined  men,  and  they  meant  to 
overthrow  the  Orleans  dynasty,  in  order  to  establish  a  Republic 
of  the  Robespierre  pattern  in  its  place.  They  had  1000  men 
under  their  orders,  thoroughly  drilled  ;  and  if  successful  in  their 
first  movements  they  counted  on  many  thousands  more  rallying 
to  their  standard.  When  all  was  ready  the  signal  was  given, 
and  on  the  I2th  of  May  the  startling  cry  of '  To  arms  !  to  arms  !' 
resounded  through  the  capital.  I  no  sooner  heard  the  uproar 
than,  eager  for  the  fray,  I  hurried  into  the  street.  The  inhabi 
tants  all  rushed  to  their  doors,  with  faces  full  of  apprehension  ; 
but  none  of  them  stirred  from  the  spot,  or  seemed  inclined  to 
court  unknown  risks.  They  knew  from  experience  the  danger 
incurred.  I  wondered  at  their  stoicism,  which  I  thought  pusil 
lanimity,  and  dashed  on  in  the  direction  of  the  firing.  Following 
several  men  in  blouses,  with  muskets  in  their  hands,  I  ran  in 
the  direction  of  the  Boulevard  St.  Martin.  Seeing  a  barricade 
erected  in  the  Rue  St.  Martin,  I  went  down  to  have  a  closer  in 
spection,  and  found  behind  it  a  motley  group  of  desperadoes,  all 
armed  and  ready  for  work.  Strange  to  say,  there  was  no  chat 
tering  or  noise  of  any  kind.  Sullen  and  savage,  they  awaited, 
like  tigers  at  bay,  the  coming  of  the  foe.  As  I  had  no  interest 
in  the  matter,  nor  was  likely  to  be  gazetted  for  intrepidity,  it 
occurred  to  me  that  I  was  in  a  dangerous  neighbourhood,  and  had 
better  gratify  my  curiosity  elsewhere.  Just  as  I  had  taken  this 
prudent  resolution,  I  perceived,  to  my  horror,  a  strong  body 
of  troops  coming  round  the  corner  of  the  street  to  attack  the 
barricaders,  who  immediately  levelled  their  muskets  and  began 
firing.  The  door  of  every  house  was  closed,  and  I  saw  no  loop 
hole  of  escape.  Running  either  way  was  equally  perilous,  and, 
though  awfully  scared,  I  had  wit  enough  to  lay  myself  flat  under 
a  porte-cochtre.  The  soldiers  advanced  steadily  up  to  the  barri 
cade,  when  the  drums  beat  the  charge,  and  a  furious  fight  began. 
It  lasted,  it  seemed  to  me,  for  hours ;  but  it  appeared  that  in 
some  twenty  minutes  the  barricaders  were  overpowered,  and  fled, 
leaving  many  dead  and  wounded  behind.  As  soon  as  the  firing 
ceased  I  resumed  my  perpendicular,  and  took  to  my  heels  forth- 

*  This  is  the  sarpe  Blanqui  who,  in  May  1879,  was  discharged  from  imprison 
ment  incurred  for  endeavouring  to  overthrow  the  Republican  Government  in  October 
a  87 1.  He  has  spent  upwards  of  forty  years  in  prison,  and  will  probably  die  in  one. 
He  is  seventy-four  years  old. 


Paris  Revisited.  495 


with,  but  in  a  different  direction  from  my  late  friends  of  the 
barricade.  Whenever  I  met  any  more  insurgents  or  troops,  I 
bolted  down  the  first  street  to  avoid  them,  and  kept  on  my 
zigzag  course  until  I  got  safely  home,  quite  resolved,  when  the 
next  insurrection  occurred,  to  imitate  the  prudent  tactics  of  the 
householders,  and  keep  out  of  harm's  way. 

A  short  time  afterwards  I  read  in  the  papers  the  statement 
of  M.  Tisserand,  the  officer  in  command,  of  what  took  place  in 
the  Rue  St.  Martin.  I  might  have  seen  it  all  if  I  had  only  stood 
up,  but  an  unlucky  shot  might  then  have  prevented  my  ever 
recording  it.  '  I  placed  myself/  said  M.  Tisserand,  '  a  few  paces 
in  advance  of  my  troops,  and,  ordering  the  drummers  to  sound 
the  charge,  I  rushed  forward,  sword  in  hand,  followed  by  all  my 
men.  The  insurgents  also  beat  the  charge,  and  received  me 
with  a  hot  fire  at  point-blank  distance.  Many  were  struck,  my 
self  among  the  rest ;  but  I  instantly  sprang  upon  the  barricade. 
One  of  the  insurgents  aimed  at,  but  missed,  me.  I  struck  him 
with  my  sword  on  the  breast,  and  he  fell.  As  I  jumped  down 
from  the  barricade,  another  insurgent  was  kneeling  on  the 
ground,  holding  his  musket,  the  muzzle  of  which  he  laid  on  my 
chest.  Fortunately  I  was  nimble  enough  to  run  him  through 
with  my  sword.  In  his  dying  convulsions  he  seized  me  by  the 
legs,  and  falling,  we  both  rolled  upon  the  ground  together.' 

This  was  only  one  of  the  bloody  episodes  that  transpired  in 
my  close  proximity,  but  the  fighting  was  equally  murderous  in 
other  quarters.  Numerous  guard-houses  were  stormed  and  cap 
tured.  The  shops  of  many  gunsmiths  were  assailed  in  search  of 
weapons.  Finally,  the  Hotel  de  Ville  was  attacked  and  carried, 
when  Barbes  read  a  proclamation,  announcing  the  advent  of  the 
Republic.  For  a  time  the  rioters  thought  their  success  certain, 
and  fought  with  unparalleled  fury.  After  several  hours,  the 
superior  numbers  and  discipline  of  the  troops  prevailed,  and  the 
sauve  qui  peut  commenced.  The  ringleaders  were  all  made 
prisoners,  covered  with  wounds,  but  defiant  to  the  last.  Several 
were  condemned  to  death,  but  the  King  commuted  their  punish 
ment  to  transportation. 

This  daring  attempt  to  effect  a  Revolution  had  a  sobering 
effect  on  the  politicians  of  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  and  Louis 
Philippe  had  the  supreme  satisfaction  of  forming  at  last  a  Min 
istry  of  his  own  choice  ;  and  he  inflicted  a  merited  rebuke  on  the 
chief  fomentors  of  the  late  difficulties  by  discarding  them  all. 


CHAPTER  LI. 
PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

A  VISIT  FROM  MR.  PRICE — THE  MARQUIS  DE  LAV  ALETTE — A  RENOWNED  ARTIST 

A  STRANGE  INFATUATION — TAGLIONI  AND  FANNY  ELSSLER. 

MY  appetite  for  Paris  seemed  '  to  grow  by  what  it  fed  on/  and 
as  I  could  imagine  no  more  delightful  residence  in  any  known 
part  of  the  globe,  I  gladly  seized  an  opportunity  to  establish  my 
self  in  a  comfortable  apartment  in  a  central  situation  on  a  lease 
of  three  years.  I  furnished  it  somewhat  luxuriously,  and  settled 
down  with  the  pleasant  determination  to  take  '  mine  ease  in  mine 
inn.'  In  order  to  be  on  good  terms  with  my  conscience,  I  re 
solved  to  devote  a  portion  of  my  time  to  diligent  perusal  of  all 
the  standard  authors  in  the  various  realms  of  literature,  including 
even  the  tranquil  topic  of  political  economy,  I  found  abundant 
occupation  for  my  leisure  hours  in  frequenting  the  houses  of  my 
numerous  friends,  whose  society  and  hospitalities  left  me  no 
thing  to  desire.  I  can  recall  no  period  of  my  career  with  more 
relish  than  this.  I  was  leading  in  all  respects  a  blameless  life, 
and  one  in  perfect  conformity  to  my  quiet  tastes.  Happily  I 
was  not  troubled  by  the  qualms  of  an  unsatisfied  ambition.  Had 
Mephistopheles  offered  without  a  penalty  to  envelop  me  in 
renown,  I  should  have  politely  declined  the  temptation.  If  there 
was  anything  to  which  I  had  an  especial  aversion,  it  was  pub 
licity  of  any  kind.  This,  no  doubt,  proceeded  from  my  nervous 
organisation,  that  I  never  could  overcome,  and  which  made  me 
shrink  timidly  from  the  least  chance  of  falling  under  public 
observation.  Had  any  one  threatened  to  make  me  the  theme  of 
a  newspaper  article,  however  eulogistic,  I  should  have  begged 
harder  to  be  spared  than  if  my  life  had  been  attacked. 

Another  peculiarity,  as  strongly  developed,  was  my  solicitude 
for  an  unsullied  character.  I  sought  in  all  things  to  be  on  the 
best  footing  with  Mrs.  Grundy,  and  fastidiously  avoided  asso 
ciation  with  any  one  of  doubtful  odour,  male  or  female.  Indif- 


Paris  Revisited.  497 


ferent,  as  I  have  said,  to  public  distinction,  I  courted  eagerly  good 
repute  in  private  life  : 

'  Unblemished  let  me  live,  or  die  unknown ; 
O,  grant  an  honest  fame,  or  grant  me  none !' 

I  have  indulged  in  this  explanatory  prelude  to  show  what  a 
puppet  is  a  human  being  in  the  hands  of  Fate,  and  that,  in  spite 
of  his  will  or  wishes,  a  man  may  be  suddenly  precipitated  into 
a  position  diametrically  opposed  to  his  views,  and  wholly  unfore 
seen  in  his  wildest  fancies.  This  was  just  my  unlucky  experi 
ence,  as  the  following  narrative  will  prove.  From  a  friendly 
motive  I  was  drawn  into  a  connection  that  finally  enveloped  me 
like  a  net,  and  neither  caution  or  apprehension  prevented  my 
becoming  an  instrument  in  an  enterprise  in  which  not  only  I  had 
no  interest,  but  every  inducement  to  evade.  The  comical  part  of 
it  was  that  it  scattered  to  the  winds  my  love  of  privacy,  to  say 
nothing  of  my  craving  for  high  respectability. 

It  was  a  lovely  morning  in  July,  and  I  was  absorbed  in  a 
speech  of  Burke's,  when  the  door  of  my  library  was  thrown  open, 
and  the  servant  announced,  -*  Mr.  Stephen  Price.'  I  jumped  up 
in  surprise,  exclaiming, 

'  My  dear  Price,  delighted  to  see  you  !  When  did  you  come 
to  Paris  ?  You  are  the  last  man  I  expected  to  meet.' 

My  visitor  took  no  notice  of  my  gushing  welcome,  but, 
deliberately  depositing  his  hat  and  stick  on  a  table,  sat  down 
in  his  gruff  way,  and  looked  me  steadily  in  the  face.  There 
was  something  in  his  eye  and  manner  that  indicated  a  settled 
purpose  of  some  sort.  I  have  already  described  him  as  an  oddity, 
and  I  always  dreaded  any  collision,  knowing  his  arbitrary  temper. 

*  I  have  come  here  expressly  to  see  you/  he  began.     '  Don't 
interrupt  me ;  I  want  to  ask  a  service.    You  are  just  the  man  for 
my  project.' 

*  It  will  give  me  the  greatest  pleasure  to  oblige  you,'  I  said, 
without  hesitation. 

'  I  am  utterly  ruined,  on  the  verge  of  bankruptcy/  he  con 
tinued,  without  change  of  countenance. 

*  I  am  deeply  shocked  to  hear  it/  I  added,  not  a  little  moved. 

*  Now  listen  to  me/  he  said  emphatically.     '  I  have  hit  on  a 
plan  to  retrieve  my  fortunes.     I  want  to  engage  Fanny  Elssler 
for  my  theatre  in  New  York  for  forty  nights.     I  will  give  her 
half  the  houses,   less  the  expenses.     This  ought  to  put  30,000 

KK 


49 8  Paris  Revisited. 


dollars  in   my  pocket,  which  will  tide  me  over  my  difficulties. 
Will  you  aid  me  ?' 

I  was  astounded  at  the  proposition,  and  felt  inclined  to  reject 
it  instantly.  Yet  his  situation  touched  me.  After  pondering 
a  moment,  I  said, 

*  She  would   be  as  likely  to  embark  for  the  moon  as  go  to 
America.     The  one  she  has   seen,  but  probably  never  heard  of 
the  other.     Besides,  the  director  of  the  Opera  would  oppose  it 
desperately.     Moreover,  I  don't  know  her.' 

Clouds  gathered  on  his  brow,  and  he  replied,  in  a  testy  tone, 
{  These  obstacles  could  be  overcome  if  you  desired  to  serve 
me.     Do  you  refuse  ?' 

1  No,'  I  answered  blandly  ;  '  but  I  would  like  to  think  it  over/ 

*  No   time   for  that,'  he  replied,  rising.     '  I   must  return  tc* 
London  at  once.    I  am  in  great  trouble.     May  I  rely  upon  you  ?' 

'  Yes.     What  can  I  do  ?' 

'  Get  me  an  interview  with  Fanny  Elssler/  he  demanded, 
'  After  that  I  will  leave  the  negotiation  in  your  hands.' 

'  Fortunately,'  I  remarked, '  I  know  the  Marquis  de  Lavalette^ 
the  chief  adviser  of  the  brilliant  artist.  If  I  get  his  adhesion,  it 
will  facilitate  matters.' 

*  If  you  wish  it,'  he  added, '  I  will  ask  my  friend  Frank  Corbin 
to  assist  you.' 

'  Do  so,  it  may  be  useful  ;  but  I  will  see  the  Marquis  to-day, 
and  send  you  his  impressions.  I  trust,  for  your  sake,  he  will  not 
oppose  the  project.' 

'  You  understand  me/  he  persisted.  '  The  engagement  is 
vital  to  my  interests.  I  count  on  your  influence  and  tact.  Will 
you  help  me  ?'  and  he  took  me  nervously  by  the  hand. 

'  I  will  do  my  best  to  accomplish  your  object/  I  assured  him 
earnestly. 

He  went  away,  and  left  me  quite  bewildered.  I  regarded  the 
job  with  repugnance.  Yet  what  could  I  do  ?  The  appeal  was 
from  an  old  man,  in  broken  health  and  stricken  by  misfortune. 
He  had  lavished  hospitality  on  me  without  stint  in  London. 
Should  I  withhold  my  hand  in  an  emergency  like  this  ?  It  would 
have  been  unfeeling  to  do  so. 

I  started  off  instantly  to  the  Jockey  Club  to  hunt  up  the 
Marquis  de  Lavalette,  who  was  the  presiding  genius  of  that 
fashionable  resort.  This  gentleman  was  a  descendant  of  an  old 
family  and  a  member  of  the  Diplomatic  Corps,  which  "did  not 


Pans  Revisited.  499 


prevent  him  dabbling  in  theatricals,  leading  an  active  club  life, 
and  giving  much  attention  to  the  turf.  He  was  a  handsome  man* 
of  thirty-three,  of  pleasing  and  distinguished  manners,  remarkable 
for  acuteness  of  mind,  and  withal  so  energetic  in  purpose  that 
he  rarely  failed  in  what  he  undertook.  Activity  and  tact  were 
his  salient  traits.  He  was  a  great  authority  in  the  artistic  world, 
and  all-potential  with  the  peerless  danseuse.  I  broached  to  him 
the  scheme  of  Mr.  Price,  and,  to  my  surprise,  he  favoured  it.  I 
learned  his  reasons  later.  After  a  chat,  he  said, 

*  Come  with  your  friend  to-morrow  at  two  P.M.  to  the  resi 
dence  of  Mdlle.  Elssler,  and  I  will  present  you.' 

I  wrote  promptly  to  the  manager  to  join  me  before  the 
designated  hour,  which  he  did,  and  we  drove  off  to  our  rendez 
vous  in  the  Rue  Lafitte. 

Mdlle.  Elssler  occupied  the  chief  part  of  a  mansion  in  this 
central  position,  and  mounting  to  the  premier  we  passed  through 
several  richly-furnished  rooms,  and  were  ushered  into  her  boudoir, 
where  we  found  the  Marquis  in  earnest  parley  with  the  diva  of 
the  dance. 

She  received  us  with  exceeding  courtesy,  and  the  conversa 
tion  forthwith  began.  The  Marquis  spoke  English  perfectly,  and 
translated  at  intervals  to  the  lady  what  passed  between  him 
and  Mr.  Price.  The  length  of  the  engagement  proposed,  the 
time,  and  the  terms  were  all  fully  discussed  ;  and  whilst  this  was 
going  on  I  had  abundant  opportunity  to  contemplate  this  cele 
brated  woman.  I  was  struck  by  her  quiet  lady-like  appearance. 
She  was  above  medium  height,  and  divinely  formed,  as  I  had 
often  seen  on  the  stage.  Her  features  were  well  shaped,  and  the 
eyes,  of  dark  gray,  wonderfully  soft  and  gentle.  Her  head 
was  beautifully  shaped,  the  countenance  singularly  sweet  and 
winning.  The  voice,  too,  was  low  and  musical.  Every  move 
ment  was  the  incarnation  of  grace.  What  puzzled  me  was  that 
so  meek  and  placid  a  creature  should  have  made  such  a  furore 
in  Europe,  on  and  off  the  stage.  One  would  have  supposed, 
from  her  retiring  air  and  modest  deportment,  that  she  had  been 
reared  in  a  convent,  or  had  budded  in  some  '  cool  sequestered 
vale,'  far  away  from  the  haunts  of  men  and  the  purlieus  of  the 
opera-house.  Could  she  be  as  innocent  and  confiding  as  she 
looked  ?  Had  the  admiration  of  suitors,  the  enthusiasm  of  mul 
titudes,  the  homage  of  princes,  fallen  unnoticed  on  the  ground  ? 
Could  she  have  walked,  or  rather  danced,  over  so  many  hot 


5°°  Paris  Revisited. 

ploughshares  without  scorching  her  tiny  feet  ?  Was  it  possible 
to  live  in  the  malarious  atmosphere  in  which  she  had  been  bred, 
and  preserve  purity  of  mind,  goodness  of  heart,  and  sincerity  of 
character  ?  It  seemed  to  me  well-nigh  incredible.  During  the 
colloquy  of  the  Marquis  and  my  friend  Price  she  rarely  spoke, 
simply  nodding  her  head  as  the  main  points  were  interpreted, 
whilst  I  busied  myself  with  the  reflections  just  expressed.  At 
the  close  Mr.  Price  said  he  must  return  forthwith  to  London, 
and  would  leave  me  to  arrange  the  details,  if  Mdlle.  Elssler 
accepted  the  engagement. 

'  A  mighty  simple  unpretending  sort  of  a  body/  observed  the 
manager,  as  we  wended  our  way  homewards.  '  I  expected 
something  very  different.  I  fancy  she  is  quite  under  the  tute 
lage  of  the  Marquis.  If  you  win  him  over,  you'll  have  little 
trouble  with  her,  I  feel  sure.' 

'  Just  as  I  told  you,'  was  my  reply. 

'  Well,  the  affair  begins  favourably,'  he  remarked.  '  I  am  off  to 
night.  All  now  depends  on  you,  and  if  you  succeed  I  shall  be 
profoundly  grateful.  I  have  no  other  hope.' 

*  I  shall  not  fail  for  want  of  effort,'  I  answered,  *  and  begin  to 
feel  more  sanguine.' 

He  shook  me  cordially  by  the  hand  at  parting,  and  said  all 
he  could  to  stimulate  my  zeal. 

I  was  now  resolved  to  go  on  with  this  business,  which  at  first 
awakened  my  dread.  It  was  quite  out  of  my  line,  and  might 
involve  unpleasant  associations.  But  the  embarrassed  situation 
of  my  friend,  who  gave  me  fuller  details  than  related,  aroused 
my  sympathies,  whilst  the  pleasing  well-bred  demeanour  of 
Mdlle.  Elssler  diminished  many  objections.  I  had  frequent  inter 
views  with  the  Marquis  de  L.,  who  frankly  assured  me  he 
desired  the  engagement  to  be  effected.  He  stated  he  should 
be  compelled  shortly  to  go  to  Persia,  as  chief  secretary  of  an 
important  mission  the  Government  proposed  to  send  there,  and 
would  be  away,  perhaps,  for  a  year.  During  this  interval  he 
preferred  that  Mdlle.  E.  should  make  a  tour  in  America,  as  her 
simple  trusting  nature  wholly  disabled  her  from  contending  with 
the  intrigues  and  temptations  of  her  life  in  Paris.  She  required 
at  her  elbow  some  sagacious  influential  friend,  who  would  pro 
tect  her  from  harm.  He  said  the  main  obstacle  to  the  engage 
ment  was  the  certain  opposition  of  the  director  of  the  Opera, 
as  her  absence  would  greatly  diminish  his  receipts.  She  was 


Parts  Revisited.  501 


entitled  by  her  contract  to  three  months'  leave  annually  during 
the  dead  season  ;  but  this  was  hardly  sufficient  for  the  trip  in 
question.  However,  he  would  undertake  to  arrange  this,  if  pos 
sible,  and  the  rest  would  be  comparatively  easy. 

'  You  must  see  Mdlle.  Elssler  as  often  as  convenient/  he  said, 
'  and  remove  her  apprehensions  of  so  perilous  an  enterprise,  as 
she  regards  it.  Already  the  interested  and  ignorant  people 
about  her  are  describing  the  risks  and  terrors  of  the  barbarous 
land  she  talks  of  visiting.  They  tell  her  it  is  filled  with  savages 
and  wild  beasts,  and  I  daresay  they  think  so.  They  declare 
her  graceful  art  would  be  derided  and  denounced,  and  that  if  she 
ventured  to  show  her  ankles,  much  more  her  legs,  an  outcry  of 
horror  would  be  raised,  and  she  would  probably  be  prosecuted 
for  indecency.  You  must  undertake  to  disabuse  her  mind  of 
these  absurdities,  which  she  hardly  knows  whether  to  believe  or 
not  ;  and  if  you  find  her  tractable,  we  will  then  set  to  work  at 
the  engagement.' 

This  was  the  substance  of  several  conversations  with  the 
Marquis,  and  I  cheerfully  agreed  to  enter  the  lists  against  the 
defamers  of  the  taste  and  refinement  of  my  maligned  country. 

I  called  occasionally  on  the  famous  danseuse,  and  was  in 
variably  charmed  by  her  affability  and  elegance.  I  could  not 
question  her  natural  intelligence ;  but  it  was  blended  with  an 
ingenuousness  very  rare  in  the  world,  and  still  more  on  the  stage. 
It  was  long  before  I  could  be  convinced  that  this  was  all  genuine, 
and  not  merely  the  skilful  dissimulation  of  a  consummate  actress. 
I  ridiculed  the  amusing  fabrications  of  her  visitors  respecting  the. 
sauvagerie  of  the  United  States,  and  guaranteed  her  a  reception 
that  would  throw  the  enthusiasm  of  other  countries  she  had 
vanquished  into  the  shade.  Such  art  as  hers,  I  assured  her,  had 
never  been  seen  there,  and,  united  with  so  much  beauty  and 
grace,  would  be  quite  a  revelation,  that  would  yield  results  in 
fame  and  profit  beyond  her  most  sanguine  calculations.  By 
degrees  she  seemed  to  give  me  her  confidence  ;  for,  though  artless 
bv  disposition,  her  experience  had  taught  her  caution,  and  she 
felt  doubt  more  than  suspicion  of  the  motives  of  men. 

I  had  often  applauded  the  marvellous  skill  and  expressive 
pantomime  of  this  great  artist  in  the  opera-house,  but  once  out 
of  it  had  never  thought  any  more  about  her.  Now,  however, 
that  I  had  unexpectedly  met  and  found  her  so  unlike  any  one 
connected  with  the  stage  I  had  known,  I  felt  great  curiosity 


502  Paris  Revisited. 


about  her  past  history,  and  endeavoured  to  collect  all  that  was 
reliable  on  the  subject.  She  was  a  native  of  Vienna,  and  her 
father  was  a  musician,  and  a  friend  of  Haydn  the  composer. 
At  first  she  was  trained  as  a  singer,  but  suddenly  conceived  a 
violent  passion  for  the  dance  ;  and,  after  fruitless  resistance,  her 
father  gave  way,  and  she  was  apprenticed  to  her  art.  She  made 
such  rapid  progress  that,  when  barely  fifteen,  she  and  her  elder 
sister,  who  adopted  the  same  profession,  were  engaged  for  two 
years  at  Naples.  Here  Fanny  became  an  immense  favourite  ;. 
but  at  the  end  of  her  contract  insisted  on  returning  to  Vienna,, 
where  she  was  installed  as  la  premiere  danseuse  at  the  Court 
Theatre.  Though  only  seventeen,  she  was  pronounced  the  first 
dancer  of  Germany,  and  her  remarkable  loveliness  added  to  her 
reputation.  She  drew  enthusiastic  crowds  whenever  she  ap 
peared,  and  engagements  from  all  parts  of  Europe  poured  in 
upon  her.  She  led  a  very  retired  life  at  hcme,  and  thought  of 
nothing  but  her  art.  It  was  at  this  period  the  Duke  of  Reich- 
stadt,  son  of  Napoleon  I.,  became  deeply  enamoured  of  her,  but,, 
whether  from  pride  or  other  reasons,  he  never  revealed  it.  He 
was  constantly  at  the  theatre  when  she  danced,  but  beyond  this 
proof  of  admiration  he  made  no  sign.  It  was  only  on  his  death 
bed,  as  I  have  stated,  some  three  years  later,  that  he  avowed  his 
passion. 

Another  striking  testimony  of  her  fascination  for  cultivated 
minds  occurred  during  this  residence  in  her  native  town.  The 
celebrated  Gentz,  the  first  statesman  of  Germany,  and  then  sixty- 
six  years  old,  became  desperately  infatuated,  but  had  great 
.difficulty  in  knowing  her,  so  averse  was  she  to  acquaintances 
out  of  her  home  circle.  Of  course,  at  his  time  of  life,  the  illus 
trious  sexagenarian  had  no  idea  of  becoming  her  lover  in  the 
ordinary  sense.  All  he  aspired  to  was  the  occasional  enjoyment 
of  her  society,  and  the  privilege  of  improving  her  education. 
On  this  basis  he  became  a  frequent  visitor  at  her  father's  house, 
and  took  great  delight  in  giving  her  lessons  in  French  and 
other  languages.  This  remarkable  man  was  so  well  known  in 
Germany  that  his  extreme  devotion  to  Fanny  Elssler  became 
the  theme  of  general  comment.  In  1836,  four  years  after  his 
death,  his  correspondence  with  the  Baroness  Varnhagen,  the  wife 
of  one  of  the  Prussian  Ministers,  was  published  in  Berlin,  and 
the  fervent  declarations  of  his  romantic  attachment  to  the  charm 
ing  artist  were  so  striking  as  to  be  widely  copied  and  dis- 


Paris  Revisited.  503 


cussed.  Any  translation  would  convey  but  a  feeble  idea  of  the 
glow  of  his  brilliant  style  ;  but  still  these  letters  are  so  curious 
that  a  few  extracts  will  likely  be  read  with  interest. 

In  a  letter  dated  Vienna,  September  1830,  he  writes: 

*  *     *     To  you  I  must  and  I  dare  confess  what  to  others  I  con 
tent  myself  with  not  formally  denying,  that  since  last  winter  I  have  borne 
in  my  breast  a  passion  of  greater  strength  than  any  I  have  ever  known. 
You  will  be  astonished — perhaps  horror-struck — when  I  tell  you  that  the 
object  of  this  passion  is  a  girl  scarce  nineteen,  and,  what  is  more,  a  dan 
sense.     Yet  when  I  assure  you  that  my  intercourse  with  this  girl  has 
poured  out  upon  me  a  fulness  of  felicity  such  as  I  have  never  known  or 
felt  before  ;  that  this  intercourse  has  been  to  me,  not  only  the  counter 
poise  of  numerous  anxieties  under  which  I  should  otherwise  have  infal 
libly  succumbed,  but  also  the  upholding  principle  of  my  cheerfulness,, 
my  health,  and  my  life,  I  think  you  will  be  induced  not  only  to  excuse 
me,  but  also  to  admit,  with  your  usual   enlightened  candour,  that  the 
person  who  could  thus  work  upon  me,  besides  the  unbounded  beauty 
by  which  she  enchains  me,  must  also  possess  other  qualities  which  ex 
plain  a  relation  such  as  I  have  depicted.     This  person  is  now  in  Berlin. 
If  you  happen  still  to  concern  yourself  about  the  theatre  you  will  cer 
tainly  hear  of  her;  but  I  feel  anxious  you  should  see  her  once  or  twice, 
if  it  be  only  upon  the  stage.     I  am  anything  but  indifferent  to  the  im 
pression  that  Fanny  may  make  upon  you,  and  I  entreat  you  to  take  an 
opportunity  of  writing  to  me  on  the  subject. 

In  a  second  letter,  from  Presburg,  October  30,  to  the  Baronessr 
he  writes  : 

*  *     *     Now  that  you  have  come  to  know  some  of  her  charms 
you  will  consider  it  natural  and  probable  that  Fanny  had  only  to  beckon 
in  order  to  have  at  her  feet  ten  admirers  instead  of  one,  and  those,  too,, 
the  most  distinguished  for  their  rank  and  prestige.     She  despised  all 
these,  and  preferred  my  society.     I  had  neither  youth   nor  beauty  nor 
wealth  to  offer  her  ;  nor,  indeed,  anything  which  could  gain  the  heart  of 
a  young  girl,  more  especially  one  upon  the  stage.     Ordinary  people 
about  me   think,  and   affirm,  I  have  interested  her  by  my  eloquence. 
This  of  itself  would  be  singular  enough,  but  it  is  far  from  the  truth.     I 
have  won  upon  her  simply  and  exclusively  by  the  magical  power  of  my 
devotion.     *  *     I  never  conceived  she  could  *  fall  in  love'  with  me, 
for  in  the  full  fervour  of  my  idolatry  my  reason  does  not  abandon  me. 
It  was  enough  for  me  to  inspire    her  with  a  sentiment    floating  be 
tween  friendship  and  gratitude,  and  I  did  in  fact  succeed  ;  for  men  suc 
ceed  in  everything  which  they  struggle  for  with  complete  energy  and 
genuine  perseverance.     Now  imagine  what  it  is,  at  my  time  of  life,  and 


504  Paris  Revisited. 


with  my  few  remaining  pretensions,  to  see  an  affection  like  mine  thus 
rewarded.  Imagine  the  satisfaction  of  one's  self-love,  from  which  no 
human  being  can  disengage  himself ;  imagine  the  blessedness  of  daily 
undisturbed  intercourse  with  a  person  in  whom  everything  ravishes  me 
— in  whose  eyes,  in  whose  hands  (do  you  only  look  at  them),  in  whose 
single  and  separate  charms  my  mind  absorbs  itself  for  hours  together — 
whose  voice  tells  upon  me  like  magic — and  with  whom  I  carry  on  end 
less  conversations,  which  would  often  astound  you,  as  I  should  do  with 
the  most  docile  schoolgirl ;  for  I  educate  her  with  paternal  care,  and  she 
is  at  once  my  beloved  pupil  and  my  faithful  child.  Doubtless  you  will 
have  found  her  timid  and  embarrassed — a  feeling  arising  partly  from  her 
consciousness  of  her  slender  education,  and  partly  from  her  respect  for 
a  lady  whom  I  have  more  than  once  described  to  her  as  a  being  all 
but  miraculous.  Perhaps  you  may  succeed  in  soothing  her ;  and  it 
would  delight  me  infinitely  if  you  could  manage  to  untie  her  tongue. 
The  nature  of  my  admiration  for  Fanny  is  so  little  a  secret  at  Vienna 
that  it  is  talked  of  every  day  ;  and  what  contributes  to  my  comfort  is  that 
persons  for  whose  opinion  I  care  the  most — amongst  them  Prince  Met- 
ternich — never  refer  to  it  with  any  other  feeling  than  kindness  and 
delicacy. 

In  a  succeeding  letter  from  Vienna,  in  November  the  same 
year,  he  says  :  i 

I  hope  to  see  Fanny  once  more  on  the  loth  of  next  month,  and  I 
am  half  dead  with  longing  for  her.  Her  prodigious  success  in  Berlin 
has  awakened  in  me  neither  fear  nor  jealousy ;  but  I  do  indeed  feel  in 
dignant  that  she  has  been  so  unmercifully  put  to  work,  and  strained 
above  her  natural  powers,  with  scarcely  leisure  to  take  breath,  and  still 
less  for  any  friendly  visiting.  I  shall  rejoice  when  this  severe  trial  is 
over. 

Again,  he  writes  in  January  1831  : 

My  intercourse  with  Fanny,  and  her  incomparable  behaviour  to 
wards  me,  are  now,  in  truth,  the  only  bright  spots  in  my  life.  Yet  even 
this  tender  and  blissful  connection  is  insufficient  to  cheer  me  perman 
ently.  There  are  hours  when,  even  in  her  society,  I  go  through  the 
mournful  experience  so  beautifully  described  by  one  of  the  greatest 
poets  of  antiquity.  I  must  quote  the  passage  in  Latin ;  Varnhagen  will 
translate  it  for  you.  *  *  *  When  things  are  come  to  this  pass 
there  is  good  reason  for  complaint.  Yet  I  initiate  Fanny  as  little  as  I 
can  into  the  secrets  of  my  distress.  The  more  completely  she  continues 
pure  and  free  from  embarrassment,  the  more  certain  am  I  to  find  in  her 
that  diversion  of  mind  and  refreshment  without  which  I  should  very 
shortly  sink  altogether.  But  to  you,  and  to  your  clear  head  and  strong 
oul,  I  speak  out  freely.  *  *  * 

\ 


Paris  Revisited.  505 


In  another  letter  the  same  month  he  writes  : 

Fanny,  who  will  never  forget  how  nobly  and  kindly  you  have  be 
haved  to  her,  desires  to  be  remembered  to  you  most  devotedly.  Next 
week  she  will  give  for  her  benefit  the  Swiss  Milk-Maid,  which  has 
pleased  you  so  much,  but  which  I  have  never  seen.  As  the  best  male 
dancer  here  is  absent  on  leave,  the  ballets  occur  but  seldom,  and  I  pass 
my  evening  hours — as  many  of  them,  at  least,  as  I  can  rescue  from  affairs 
of  State — with  her.  I  instruct  her  in  French  and  German,  and  educate 
her  like  a  beloved  child.  This  is  the  single  occupation  which  has  still 
preserved  its  charms  for  me,  and  it  is  only  when  I  am  with  her  that  I 
forget  grief,  age,  and  death.  I  regard  her  as  a  boon  from  Heaven — 
as  a  spring-flower  which  still  flourishes  for  me  in  the  midst  of  wintry 
fields  and  tombs. 

I  will  add  a  final  extract  from  a  letter  dated  Vienna,  July  same 
year.  He  begins  describing  the  political  situation,  of  which  I 
give  only  the  following  sentences  : 

No  one  can  tell  very  well  to  what  party  he  belongs ;  opinions, 
wishes,  necessities  cross  each  other  in  so  strange  a  way,  and  meet  one 
another  again  in  the  general  confusion,  that  one  can  no  longer  distin 
guish  a  friend  from  an  enemy ;  it  is  a  war  of  all  against  all,  which  can 
only  be  terminated  by  thunderbolts  from  above  or  earthquakes  from 
beneath.  *  *  *  Fanny  alone  reconciles  me  to  life.  I  love  her 
more  than  ever,  and  my  adoration,  without  in  the  least  abating  in  its 
original  intensity,  has  at  the  same  time  acquired  a  character  of  quietude, 
of  assurance,  of  deep-seated  and  tender  friendship,  such  as  seldom  com 
ports  with  love  properly  so  called.  For  this  inexpressible  bliss — all 
that  I  have  preserved  out  of  the  great  shipwreck — I  have  to  thank, 
not  myself,  but  her — or  rather,  I  have  to  thank  Heaven,  who  made  her 
what  she  is,  and  caused  me  to  light  upon  her.  In  the  middle  of  Sep 
tember  she  will  again  visit  Berlin.  I  neither  can  nor  dare  postpone  her 
departure,  although  even  now  my  heart  bleeds  at  the  thought  of  such 
a  separation,  and  I  really  do  not  know  how  it  will  be  possible  for  me 
this  time  to  endure  it.  During  the  past  year  Fanny  has  made  wonder 
ful  progress  in  her  art;  she  is  now  the  first  dancer  in  Europe  in  the 
judgment  of  others  as  well  as  of  mine.  A  wide  and  brilliant  career  is 
before  her;  she  will  long,  long  outlive  me,  and  I  should  act  criminally 
if  I  were  to  mar  her  future  prospects.  This  would  still  be  my  feeling 
even  if  I  were  master  of  a  million  of  money,  so  that  I  could  settle  it  all 
upon  her  to-morrow,  marry  her  on  the  next  day,  and  take  her  away  from 
the  theatre  altogether.  The  quen  dira-t-on^  by  Heaven,  would  not  re 
strain  me  ;  but  all  our  feelings,  even  the  most  powerful,  must  be  silent 
in  the  presence  of  principle. 


506  Paris  Revisited. 


It  is  certainly  extraordinary  that  a  man  prized  and  feted  by 
all  the  potentates  of  Europe,  and  who  was  to  the  last  the  main 
spring  of  the  politics  of  Germany,  should,  in  his  old  age,  abandon 
himself  to  the  paroxysms  of  a  passion  that  at  times  almost  rose 
to  delirium.  That  such  was  the  case  the  extracts  from  his  cor 
respondence — and  they  are  greatly  curtailed — are  surely  a  proof. 
The  inference  is  that  it  must  have  been  something  more  than 
mere  beauty  that  could  have  stirred  to  their  depths  the  mind  and 
heart  of  such  a  man  as  Baron  von  Gentz.  There  must  have  been 
intelligence  and  sweetness  as  well  as  charms  of  person.  Else  this 
moral  bouleversement,  this  subjugation  of  one  of  the  first  intel 
lects  of  his  age,  is  quite  incomprehensible. 

To  go  on  with  the  history  of  Mdlle.  Elssler.  She  accepted 
an  engagement  at  His  Majesty's  Opera  in  London  in  1833,  and 
aroused  the  sober-minded  English  to  the  liveliest  enthusiasm.  The 
noise  of  this  ovation  was  so  great  that  Veron,  the  able  director 
of  the  French  Opera,  was  attracted  to  London,  and  at  once  re 
solved  to  secure  the  prize.  Totally  ignorant  of  the  character  of 
the  great  artist,  he  began  a  series  of  diplomatic  manoeuvres  to 
bring  about  an  engagement.  Amongst  the  rest,  he  got  up  a 
grand  dinner  at  the  Clarendon  Hotel  in  honour  of  Mdlle.  Elssler, 
where  a  recherche  party  was  invited  to  meet  her.  When  the  des 
sert  was  put  on  the  table,  all  eyes  were  attracted  to  a  ric\\panier 
in  the  centre,  filled  with  costly  jewelry.  At  a  nod  from  M. 
VeVon  this  glittering  array  of  diamonds  and  rubies  was  brought 
to  the  astonished  Fanny,  who  was  gallantly  requested  by  her 
host  to  accept  this  tribute  of  his  loyal  admiration.  To  his  won 
derment  she  politely  declined,  secretly  regarding  it  as  a  some 
what  vulgar  compliment.  It  was  only  when  she  observed  his 
mortification  at  her  refusal  that  she  consented  to  select  the 
simplest  bracelet  of  the  collection  as  a  souvenir  of  the  feast. 

When  the  astute  VeVon  discovered  that  the  usual  managerial 
artifices  were  thrown  away  on  the  simple-minded  Fanny,  he  came 
at  once  to  business,  and  proposed  a  long  engagment  at  the  rate 
of  20,000  dollars  a  year.  She  could  take  no  exception  to  this  sum, 
but  desired  that  her  sister  might  likewise  be  engaged.  This  the 
director  resisted,  as  he  was  already  supplied  with  many  danseuses 
of  superior  attraction.  She  then  refused  the  offer  of  M.  VeYon, 
unless  he  agreed  to  engage  her  sister,  and  divide  the  salary  pro 
posed  between  them.  Of  course,  no  objection  was  made  to  this 
kind  suggestion,  and  the  engagement  was  concluded. 


Paris  Revisited.  507 


In  the- autumn  of  1834,  Fanny  Elssler  made  her  appearance 
at  the  Grand  Ope"ra  of  Paris,  and  her  triumphs  were  numberless. 
She  had  a  formidable  antagonist  in  the  celebrated  Taglioni, 
whose  Sylphide  was  pronounced  the  embodiment  of  the  '  poetry 
of  motion  ;'  but  Fanny  surpassed  her  in  beauty,  was  her  equal 
in  grace,  and  outstripped  her  in  pantomimic  expression.  More 
over,  she  introduced  a  new  school  of  dancing,  full  of  brilliancy 
and  eclat.  The  rivalry  between  the  great  artists  was  keen  and 
exciting,  and  their  respective  partisans  exhausted  the  flower- 
markets  of  Paris  in  their  enthusiastic  demonstrations. 

On  one  occasion  the  admirers  of  Taglioni  insisted  on  crown 
ing  their  favourite  on  the  stage  as  the  deesse  de  la  danse.  This 
was  far  from  acceptable  to  the  director,  who  thought  it  would  be 
an  unfair  mark  of  preference,  and  a  slight  to  the  swelling  popu 
larity  of  the  fascinating  Elssler  ;  but  he  was  too  politic  to  pro 
voke  an  uproar  by  a  blunt  refusal,  and  so  orders  were  given  for 
the  ceremony,  which  was  to  take  place  one  evening  at  the  close 
of  the  performance  of  La  Sylphide. 

The  house  was  crowded  with  the  champions  of  the  renowned 
Taglioni,  who  longed  for  the  moment  when  the  white  wreath  of 
the  Sylph  was  to  be  removed  and  a  coronet  of  laurel-leaves  in 
gold  substituted,  as  the  emblem  of  her  sovereignty  over  the  fairy 
realm  of  the  dance.  When  all  was  ready,  and  just  as  Taglioni, 
full  of  exultation,  had  fallen  on  one  knee  to  receive  her  crown, 
the  immense  orchestra  suddenly  struck  up  the  wild  galop  from 
Gustave,  and  the  whole  corps  de  ballet,  exceeding  a  hundred, 
came  dashing  down  the  stage  with  such  impetuosity  as  to  sweep 
the  astonished  danseuse  and  the  bewildered  group  around  her 
completely  out  of  sight,  when  the  curtain  fell. 

A  great  sensation  followed,  and  for  days  there  was  searching 
inquiry  as  to  who  could  have  instigated  this  unlooked-for  denoue 
ment.  The  chef  d'orchestre  could  never  tell  where  he  got  the 
signal  to  play  the  galop  that  did  all  the  mischief.  M.  V^ron 
would  never  consent  to  any  repetition  of  the  ceremony,  and  it 
was  shrewdly  suspected  he  was  the  real  author  of  this  adroit 
stratagem  to  prevent  Taglioni  and  her  friends  from  inflicting  a 
mortifying  slight  on  her  popular  rival. 

In  what  were  called  pas  de  caractere  Mdlle.  Elssler  created  a 
sensation  in  Paris  that  had  never  been  witnessed.  In  a  new 
ballet,  the  Diable  Boiteux,  she  introduced  a  Spanish  dance  of  her 
own  composition  that,  for  beauty  and  grace,  was  pronounced  a 


508  Paris  Revisited. 


cJief-cT  ceuvre.  La  Cachuca,  with  its  clinking  castanets  and  equi 
vocal  poses,  quite  intoxicated  the  susceptible  French,  and  put 
the  seal  on  her  saltatory  reputation.  In  another  ballet,  the  Gipsy, 
she  executed  a  Polish  dance  entitled  La  Cracovienne,  which  for 
dash  and  elegance  eclipsed  all  her  previous  efforts.  These  charac 
ter  dances  were  utterly  beyond  the  reach  of  Taglioni.  Elssler 
was  in  the  zenith  of  her  fame  when  Mr.  Price  came  to  Paris,  in 
the  summer  of  1839,  in  the  hope  of  carrying  her  off  to  the  Park 
Theatre,  New  York,  to  build  up  his  battered  fortunes. 

As  might  have  been  foreseen,  the  Marquis  de  L.had  a  tough 
job  in  seeking  to  overcome  the  obstinate  resistance  of  the  new 
director  of  the  Opera,  M.  Duponchel,  to  part  for  even  a  limited. 
period  with  one  of  his  greatest  attractions ;  and  as  the  struggle 
was  likely  to  last  for  some  weeks  I  determined  on  a  brief  ex 
cursion  to  London,  to  look  up  some  of  my  old  friends  I  knew 
were  residing  in  the  vicinity. 


CHAPTER  LIT. 

ST.  LEONARDS-ON-SEA. 

THE  DUNLOP  FAMILY — A  HISTORIC  BATTLE-GROUND — LADY  BLESSINGTON*S 
OPINIONS  OF  BULWER  AND  DISRAELI — A  RARE  BEAUTY — COUNT  D'ORSAY. 

I  FOUND,  of  course,  towards  the  close  of  August,  the  West-end 
in  the  forlorn  condition  of  a  '  banquet-hall  deserted,'  but  it  was 
pleasant  to  escape  the  bustle  and  hubbub  of  the  '  season/ 

I  called  forthwith  at  Gore  House,  and  was  sorely  disappointed 
to  find  its  fair  tenant,  the  Countess  of  Blessington,  had  disappeared 
with  the  rest  of  the  gay  world.  I  wrote  the  same  day  to  express 
my  poignant  regrets  at  her  absence.  I  passed  a  few  days  with  my 
cherished  friends  the  Dunlops,  who  were  rusticating  in  the  pretty 
village  of  Richmond,  where  their  residence  overlooked  one  of  the 
most  picturesque  views  in  England.  The  gentle  society  of  this 
charming  family  was  really  refreshing  after  the  somewhat  arti 
ficial  life  of  Paris. 

Miss  Gamble  looked  rosy  and  radiant  in  the  fresh  country 
air.  Her  conversation  was  full  of  sparkle  and  mirth,  and  I  had 
more  than  one  pleasant  stroll  with  her  in  the  lovely  park  of  Rich 
mond.  Not  unfrequently  I  thought  what  a  delightful  companion 
she  would  make  for  life,  but  the  exhortation  of  Cowper  always 
checked  my  ardour  : 

'  Choose  not  alone  a  proper  mate, 
But  proper  time  to  marry.' 

A  fortnight  soon  vanished  in  skipping  about  to  various  villas 
in  the  environs  of  London,  and  intercourse  with  the  hospit 
able  sociable  English,  always  unaffected  and  natural,  I  soon 
discovered  had  lost  none  of  its  attractions.  I  dined  one  day 
in  town  with  Mr.  Price,  who  was  full  of  nervous  anxiety  about  the 
engagement  of  Mdlle.  Elssler  for  New  York  ;  but  I  bade  him  be 
of  good  cheer,  as  I  thought  the  prospect  of  success  was  brightening 
steadily.  He  pressed  me  urgently  to  return  to  Paris,  lest  some 
hitch  might  ensue  from  my  absence,  and  I  was  on  the  point  of 
yielding  to  his  solicitations,  when  a  kind  invitation  came  from 


5 io  St.  Leonards-on-Sea. 

Lady  Blessington  to  join  her  party  for  a  few  days  on  the  sea- 
coast  of  Sussex.  I  could  not  resist  this  tempting  opportunity  to 
^njoy  in  the  solitude  of  the  country,  away  from  the  glare  and 
rattle  of  the  town,  the  society  of  this  very  fascinating  woman. 

It  was  a  balmy  morning  in  early  September  when  I  started 
for  St  Leonards-on-Sea,  some  seventy  miles  distant.  I  was 
bubbling  over  with  ecstasy  the  whole  way  at  the  exquisite 
beauty  of  the  landscape,  to  which  I  had  been  a  stranger  for  two 
years  past.  I  found  a  room  ready  for  me  at  the  Victoria  Hotel, 
where  Lady  Blessington  occupied  an  extensive  suite  of  apart 
ments  commanding  the  sea. 

I  was  summoned  at  the  dinner-hour  to  join  my  hostess,  and 
Avas  cordially  welcomed.  Her  party  was  small,  consisting  of  her 
miece,  just  arrived  from  Canada,  two  gentlemen  guests,  and  the 
magnificent  Count  D'Orsay. 

This  visit  to  St.  Leonards  is  indelibly  engraved  on  my  me 
mory.  The  famous  scenery  of  this  neighbourhood,  and  its  thrill 
ing  historical  associations,  were  enough  to  enchant  me  ;  but  the 
society  and  conversation  of  my  brilliant  hostess  added  immeasur 
ably  to  my  enjoyment.  Every  day  we  made  excursions  to  vari 
ous  objects  of  interest.  On  one  occasion  we  wandered  over  the 
battle-ground  where  the  Saxon  dynasty  was  overthrown  in  1066. 
Crossing  the  Channel  with  his  army  of  60,000  men,  William 
Duke  of  Normandy  landed  near  this  spot,  where  a  conflict  began 
at  sunrise  which,  lasting  the  whole  day,  terminated  with  the  utter 
rout  of  the  Saxons  and  the  death  of  the  valiant  Harold.  We  next 
visited  Battle  Abbey,  erected  by  the  Conqueror  in  commemora 
tion  of  his  victory  ;  and,  though  since  converted  into  a  private 
residence,  it  still  retains  many  traces  of  its  ancient  origin.  Ruined 
•castles  of  the  most  picturesque  beauty,  and  in  singular  preserva 
tion,  abounded  on  every  side,  and  my  archaeological  tastes  were 
gratified  to  the  full. 

The  conversations  of  the  evening,  however,  when  we  assem 
bled  in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner,  were,  perhaps,  even  more 
delightful.  Lady  Blessington  was  celebrated  as  a  talker ;  and 
whether  she  discoursed  of  books  or  men,  her  close  observation, 
retentive  memory,  and  felicitous  language  always  made  her 
theme  attractive  and  entertaining.  Undisturbed  by  the  flow  of 
company  that  broke  in  upon  her  at  Gore  House,  her  mind,  in 
vigorated  by  the  air  and  seclusion  of  St.  Leonards,  seemed  to 
expand,  and  we  all  listened  to  her  brilliant  extemporisations  with 


St.  Leonards-on-Sea.  511 

genuine  admiration.  One  night  I  questioned  ner  as  to  the  relative 
merits  of  her  two  friends,  Lytton  Bulwer  and  Disraeli,  whose 
splendid  works  of  fiction  were  the  talk  of  the  day. 

'Both,'  she  said,  'are  men  of  remarkable  genius,  and  in 
their  province  the  master-minds  of  the  country.  It  would  be 
difficult,  however,  to  draw  any  comparison  or  assign  any  su 
periority.  Bulwer  is  rich  in  imagination  and  wonderfully  fecund, 
whilst  at  the  bottom  of  his  mind,  so  to  speak,  there  seems  to  run 
a  calm  current  of  deep  thought  and  searching  analysis,  Dis 
raeli,  though  hardly  less  inventive  or  less  prolific,  strikes  me  as 
less  poetical,  less  sentimental  in  his  creations.  The  men  and 
women  of  his  fancy  are  more  like  those  we  meet  in  the  world. 
They  may  use  language  of  higher  polish  and  more  sparkling 
point ;  but  their  motives  are  practical,  and  tinctured  with  a  spice 
of  malevolence  that  renders  them  all  the  more  human.  In 
Bulwer's  writings  I  recognise  a  kindly  sympathetic  tone  ;  whilst 
the  pen  of  Disraeli  is  more  incisive,  more  pitiless  in  criticism, 
more  caustic  in  sarcasm.  I  cannot,  however,  express  myself  to 
my  own  satisfaction,  as  I  have  never  before  attempted  any  dis 
crimination  between  these  two  gifted  writers.' 

( It  appears,'  I  remarked,  *  that,  not  content  with  literary 
renown,  both  aspire  to  political  distinction.' 

'  Both,'  she  replied,  '  are  ambitious  men  ;  and  I  regret  that 
either  should  desire  "  to  give  up  to  party  what  was  meant  for 
mankind."  Both  are  in  Parliament ;  but  I  think  it  not  unlikely 
that  in  this  arena  Disraeli  will  outstrip  his  rival.  Bulwer  is 
more  circumspect  and,  perhaps,  more  conscientious  in  his  oratory 
and  conduct  than  the  times  demand  ;  whilst  Disraeli  is  daring 
and  resolute,  with  a  sprinkling  of  gall  in  his  composition  that 
will  make  his  ridicule  stinging  and  his  invective  formidable.  I 
shall  watch  their  political  career  with  the  keenest  interest.' 

'  I  have  heard  it  said,'  I  continued,  '  that  these  celebrated 
men  are  both  rather  eccentric  in  manner  and  dress.' 

*  It  is  not  strictly  true/  returned  Lady  B.,  '  nor  yet  wholly  the 
reverse.  Men  with  so  much  individuality  cannot  be  wholly  free 
from  mannerism.  Bulwer  is  excitable,  restless  in  movement,  and 
often  vehement  in  gesture,  which  sometimes  has  the  appearance 
of  affectation,  when  it  is  only  the  overflow  of  his  powerful  mind. 
Disraeli  is  more  quiet  in  manner,  but  somewhat  original  in 
dress.  He  is  fond  of  ornament,  and  rather  addicted  to  showy 
raiment  and  superfluous  jewelry.  Such  singularities  in  so  strik- 


512  .5^,  Leonards-on-Sea. 

ing  a  character  are  curious,  but  must  disappear  as  he  grows 
more  prominent/ 

4  His  recent  marriage  to  Mrs.  Wyndham  Lewis/  I  remarked, 
'  is  said  to  be  quite  a  romance.  Her  late  husband  was  his  de 
voted  friend,  and  assisted  him  to  obtain  a  seat  in  Parliament. 
During  all  this  time  it  is  rumoured  that  a  warm  regard  existed 
between  the  wife  and  the  famous  novelist,  which  at  last  has 
ended  in  their  union.' 

'  I  do  not  know  how  that  may  be/  answered  Lady  B. ;  f  but 
the  marriage  promises  in  every  way  to  be  a  happy  one.  She  is 
certainly  one  of  the  sweetest  women  imaginable ;  and  with  her 
great  intelligence  and  large  fortune  can  render  most  effective  aid 
to  her  husband's  ambitious  aspirations.' 

*  Is  it  true/  I  asked, '  that  Bulwer  is  on  bad  terms  with  his 
wife,  and  that  a  separation  has  ensued  ?' 

'  Yes/  replied  Lady  B.,  '  it  is  unfortunately  too  true.  An 
incompatibility  of  temper  has  alienated  them,  and,  I  fear,  for 
ever.  Lady  Bulwer  is  a  beautiful  woman  and  of  superior  intellect, 
but  with  all  the  ardour  of  the  Irish  character,  and  apt,  therefore, 
to  come  into  constant  collision  with  a  temperament  so  sensitive 
and  impassioned  as  that  of  her  husband.  It  is  all  the  more  to  be 
regretted  for  their  children's  sakes.  She  intends  passing  the 
winter,  I  hear,  in  Paris,  and  you  may  meet  her  there/ 

'  I  hope  I  shall  be  so  fortunate/  I  responded. 

During  my  stay  at  St.  Leonards  I  was  more  charmed  than 
ever  with  Count  D'Orsay.  Apart  from  all  his  accomplishments, 
there  was  a  vein  of  bonhomie  and  thorough  good-nature  per 
meating  his  character,  that  made  him  a  man  to  love  as  well  as 
admire.  In  all  his  pungent  epigrams  and  sparkling  bons  mots 
no  trace  of  malice  was  ever  to  be  detected,  and  this  kindly  temper 
further  revealed  itself  in  his  hearty  but  always  refined  manner. 
He  was  unquestionably  the  handsomest  of  men,  and  he  made 
the  most  of  Nature's  prodigality  by  adorning  his  person  with  the 
utmost  elegance.  Though  his  dress  was  by  the  English  standard 
a  trifle  showy,  yet  such  was  the  harmony  of  colour  and  the  per 
fection  of  fit,  that  it  captivated  the  eye  by  its  artistic  effect.  In 
this  quiet  watering-place,  far  away  from  the  gaze  of  Hyde  Park, 
he  attired  himself  with  the  same  scrupulous  care  as  always. 
His  morning  costumes  and  evening  dress  were  equally  perfect, 
and  were  a  study  and  delight  to  behold.  Who  could  wonder 
that  he  was — 


'St.  Leonards-on-Sea.  513 

*  The  glass  of  fashion  and  the  mould  of  form, 
The  observed  of  all  observers.' 

I  have  barely  mentioned  as  yet  a  member  of  Lady  Blessing- 
ton's  small  party  who  had  for  me  an  attraction  it  would  be  diffi 
cult  to  express.  I  refer  to  her  nieco.  Marguerite  Power,  just 
seventeen,  whose  beauty  was  something  quite  ethereal.  In  height, 
form,  feature,  and  complexion  she  was  absolutely  perfect.  A 
yet  greater  charm  than  her  extreme  beauty  was  the  engaging 
sweetness  of  her  disposition,  which  beamed  in  her  large  blue 
eyes,  and  revealed  itself  in  every  word,  look,  and  movement 
She  had  been  brought  up  in  Canada,  and  had  come  to  pass  a  few 
months  with  her  aunt  in  London.  She  knew  nothing  of  the 
world,  and  was  as  artless  and  guileless  as  a  child.  She  reminded 
me  constantly  of  that  ingenuous  seraph  I  met  in  one  of  the 
islands  of  the  ^Egean.  I  could  not  help  regretting  the  transfor 
mation  that  awaited  her  when  transplanted  to  the  arid  soil  of 
fashionable  life.  Her  maiden  simplicity  and  dove-like  innocence 
would  soon  wither  in  contact  with  the  insidious  demoralising 
world  of  London.  Yet  I  was  sure  the  poisonous  atmosphere 
would  never  taint  her  purity  of  nature  or  kind  gentle  heart. 

It  required  a  determined  effort  to  break  away  from  the  en 
thralling  influences  that  environed  me  at  St.  Leonards.  For  five 
days  I  had  given  myself  up  spellbound  to  seductions  I  could 
not  resist ;  but  on  the  sixth,  rousing  myself  for  the  occasion,  I 
bade  a  grateful  adieu  to  my  amiable  hostess,  and  took  up  my 
solitary  line  of  march  for  London. 

The  following  day  I  called  on  my  friend  Price,  and  comforted 
him  by  the  assurance  that  I  would  leave  immediately  for  Paris  ; 
and  he  entreated  me  to  complete  the  engagement,  on  which  all 
his  hopes  were  based.  I  promised  not  to  neglect  his  interests, 
and  bade  him  good-bye,  as  he  was  about  to  embark  in  the 
4  British  Queen*  for  New  York 


CHAPTER  LIIL 

PARIS  REVISITED. 

THE  CONTRACT  SIGNED — AN  UNFORESEEN  RESPONSIBILITY — MRS.  GENERAL  SCOTT 
— THE  DAGUERREOTYPE  INVENTED. 

SOON  after  my  return  to  Paris  I  met  the  Marquis  de  Lavalette, 
who  told  me  with  lively  satisfaction  that,  after  much  difficulty, 
he  had  obtained  for  Mdlle.  Elssler  a  conge  of  six  months,  which 
would  enable  her  to  make  the  voyage  to  America.  He  proposed, 
therefore,  to  commence  forthwith  the  discussions  respecting  her 
engagement,  and  we  had  repeated  interviews  to  that  effect.  By 
the  end  of  September  we  had  settled  all  the  necessary  details, 
and  the  covenant  was  drawn  up  in  due  form.  Without  copy 
ing  the  clauses,  the  agreement  especially  bound  Mdlle.  Fanny 
Elssler  to  be  at  New  York  in  the  beginning  of  April  1840,  and 
to  play  and  dance  at  the  Park  Theatre  for  thirty-six  nights,  to 
the  end  of  June  ensuing.  Further,  it  was  stipulated  that  the  re 
ceipts  for  each  night  were  to  be  equally  divided  between  the  said 
Price  and  the  said  Elssler,  after  a  deduction  of  150  dollars  per 
night,  save  on  her  benefit-nights,  when  the  receipts  were  to  be 
divided  without  any  deduction. 

On  the  8th  of  October  the  Marquis  and  I  repaired  to  the 
abode  of  Mdlle.  Elssler  to  sign  the  important  document,  big  with 
the  fate  of  the  New  York  Park  Theatre.  I  appended  my  name 
on  behalf  of  my  principal,  Price  ;  Fanny  affixed  hers  with  a  sort 
of  trepidation  ;  and  the  Marquis  signed  as  witness.  So  the  die 
was  cast.  Fanny  Elssler  was  now  bound  to  exhibit  to  Transat 
lantic  eyes  her  splendid  feats  and  magnificent  person,  or  pay  a 
heavy  forfeit  ;  whilst  my  friend  Price  could  reasonably  expect  to 
meet  all  his  obligations  and  set  the  demon  of  bankruptcy  at  de 
fiance.  I  sent  him  immediately  a  duplicate  of  the  engagement 
to  New  York,  for  which  he  had  embarked,  and  congratulated  him 
on  the  probable  result. 

About  a  week  after  this  ceremony  the  Marquis  called  on  me 
one  day  with  a  saddened  visage,  and  told  me  he  had  been  ordered 
to  join  hic  embassy  forthwith,  on  its  way  to  Persia. 


Paris  Revisited.  5 1 5 


'  When  I  am  gone,'  he  said,  '  there  will  be  no  one  here  to  give 
advice  to  Fanny,  and  she  will  be  at  the  mercy  of  a  silly  mischiev 
ous  crowd,  who  will  torment  her  life  out.  She  expresses  the 
utmost  confidence  in  your  straightforwardness  and  good  feeling^ 
and  begs  that  you  will  allow  her  to  consult  you  when  occasion 
demands.' 

'  Certainly,'  I  replied.  *  I  consider  her  interests  and  those  of 
Mr.  Price  quite  mutual,  and  I  am  at  her  service  at  all  times.' 

'  More  than  that,'  continued  the  Marquis  very  earnestly,  '  I 
would  like  to  ask  you  to  look  after  her  welfare  in  Paris  up 
to  the  time  of  her  departure.  She  needs  a  friend  to  guide  her, 
and  it  would  make  me  comfortable  to  think  I  had  provided  her 
one  who  could  be  trusted.' 

'You  propose  a  responsibility  somewhat  startling/  I  re 
sponded,  rather  surprised  ;  '  but  I  am  willing  to  do  what  I  can 
to  serve  you  and  your  few  protegee! 

'  Thank  you,'  he  said  ;  '  and  allow  me  to  inquire  if  there  is 
any  probability  of  your  going  to  New  York  about  the  time  she 
does  ?' 

'  None  whatever,'  I  answered  positively. 

*  Well,  I  regret  it ;  for  how  she   is  to  get   on   there  without 
speaking  the  language,  and  utterly  ignorant  of  business,  I  cannot 
imagine.' 

*  I  will  give  her  letters  to  my  friends/  I  assured  him,  '  besides 
making  every  suggestion  that  can  be  useful.' 

He  repeated  his  hearty  acknowledgments,  and  bade  me 
good-bye. 

I  mused  for  some  time  over  the  singular  position  in  which  I 
found  myself.  Here  was  I  saddled  with  the  supervision  of  the 
peerless  Fanny  Elssler  ;  constituted  by  her  own  wish,  and  at  the 
entreaty  of  her  confidential  friend,  her  chief  adviser.  It  was 
flattering  enough  to  have  the  exclusive  charge  of  such  a  lovely 
woman,  the  idol  of  Paris ;  but  might  it  not  involve  me  in  a  vortex 
of  demoralising  occupations  wholly  foreign  to  my  life,  and  in  con 
flict  with  my  aforesaid  notions  of  respectability?  It  is  true  I  had 
a  decided  bias  for  the  theatrical  profession,  and  counted  many  of 
its  members  among  my  esteemed  friends.  Yet  hitherto  I  had  to 
do  chiefly  with  its  male  representatives,  and  had  but  little  inti 
macy  with  the  heroines  of  the  stage.  Whether  that  was  accident, 
or  whether  I  dreaded  the  danger  of  such  seductive  contact,  I 
know  not,  but  up  to  this  time  it  had  not  occurred.  It  was  pass- 


5 1 6  Paris  Revisited. 


ing  strange  that  I  had  been  suddenly  converted  into  the  confidant, 
not  only  of  a  female  artist,  but  of  a  danseuse,  whose  fascinations 
had  turned  so  many  heads.  I  feared  I  was  on  an  inclined  plane, 
and  that  if  I  did  not  look  carefully  after  my  foothold  I  might  be 
launched  into  unknown  perplexities.  At  all  events,  by  the  terms 
of  her  contract,  the  fair  Fanny  would  be  compelled  to  leave  Paris 
in  three  or  four  months,  when  I  should  be  restored  to  my  former 
status  of  a  man  of  leisure.  Meanwhile,  my  sympathy  for  the 
embarrassed  Price  stimulated  me  to  prevent  any  obstacles  aris 
ing  that  might  impede  her  departure.  I  did  not  fancy  the  new 
line  of  business  in  which  I  had  got  entangled,  but  it  was  no 
small  comfort  to  feel  sure  that  my  probation  could  not  extend 
over  many  weeks. 

To  my  great  delight  Mrs.  General  Scott  returned  to  Paris  for 
the  winter  from  a  summer  excursion  to  the  Pyrenees.  She  was 
a  welcome  addition  to  our  American  colony,  and  her  society  was 
always  eagerly  courted  by  a  host  of  friends,  native  and  foreign. 
In  former  years  the  name  of  Maria  Mayo  was  known  not  only 
throughout  the  Old  Dominion,  where  she  was  born,  but  all  over 
the  land,  as  the  reigning  belle  of  the  day.  This  was  due  not 
merely  to  her  loveliness  and  charming  manners,  but  to  her  bril 
liant  wit  and  superior  culture.  Wherever  she  travelled  she  was 
followed  by  a  retinue  of  enthusiastic  swains,  in  the  fashion  of  the 
time,  all  hoping  and  struggling  to  capture  the  hand  of  the  fastidi 
ous  beauty,  and  her  refusals  must  have  counted  by  the  score. 
At  last  she  yielded  to  the  blandishments  of  Winfield  Scott,  and 
the  felicity  of  her  choice  was  justified  by  the  great  renown  achieved 
by  her  soldier-husband  on  many  a  hotly-contested  field  of  battle. 
She  still  retained  in  meridian  perfection  nearly  all  the  charms  for 
which  she  was  formerly  celebrated.  Of  commanding  height,  a 
handsome  animated  countenance,  imposing  demeanour,  and  rare 
gifts  of  conversation,  Mrs.  General  Scott  was  still  the  attractive 
centre  of  the  various  salons  she  frequented,  and  never  failed  to  im 
press  and  captivate  all  who  approached  her.  Virginia,  her  eldest 
daughter,  bade  fair  to  sustain  her  mother's  reputation  for  beauty, 
wit,  and,  above  all,  distinction  of  manner. 

I  always  prized  and  eagerly  courted  the  society  of  this 
distinguished  family,  and  an  evening's  chat  with  Mrs.  Scott  was 
for  me  the  greatest  delice  that  even  Paris  afforded.  In  serious 
conversation  her  intellect  displayed  vigour  and  depth,  whilst  in 
sportive  discourse  her  repartee  was  brilliant,  and  her  sallies  full 


Paris  Revisited.  5 1 7 


of  vivacity  and  point.  She  was  a  poetess  of  no  small  merit,  and 
her  pen  was  in  frequent  requisition,  as  may  be  seen  in  the 
allusion  to  some  verses  on  the  f  Sulphur  Springs'  of  Virginia 
that  she  makes  in  the  following  note  I  cannot  forbear  quoting : 

Thursday,  5  Rue  de  la  Paix. 

*  *  *  No,  I  do  not  like  that  style  to-day.  Therefore  I  will  tel 
you  more  simply,  beau  sire^  that,  notwithstanding  -the  great  pleasure  with 
which  I  had  anticipated  the  fulfilment  of  our  plan  for  this  evening,  the 
'postponement  of  it  was  announced  in  time  to  relieve  me  from  a  dilemma 
— one  of  our  American  nursery  dilemmas,  brought  on  by  the  indisposi 
tion  of  a  child  and  want  of  confidence  in  its  nurse.  Ella  awoke  this 
morning  very  unwell,  and  was  in  my  arms,  whilst  the  opera  (Heaven  for 
give  me!)  was  in  my  mind,  at  the  moment  of  your  note's  arrival.  So  the 
engagement  will  come  off  much  more  favourably  for  us  on  Monday  than 
it  could  this  evening.  I  say  for  us,  because  Virginia,  who  is  to  be  of  the 
party,  has  seen  La  Gipsy,  but  not  the  new  ballet ;  and  for  me,  La  Taren- 
tule  is  quite  as  attractive  as  the  other,  both  being  new  to  me. 

I  am  glad  to  hear  that  Mdlle.  Elssler  has  received  letters  of  introduc 
tion  from  Mr.  Hughes* — for  her  sake  in  a  measure,  and  in  a  greater  one 
for  his,  since  the  fact  of  his  writing  them  proves  a  better  state  of  mind 
than  I  had  attributed  to  him.  He  is  very  kind-hearted,  however,  and 
may  have  made  a  great  exertion  for  her  advantage. 

You  are  very  indulgent  to  those  '  pretty  lines,'  as  you  style  them.  I 
am  pleased  that  they  should  have  afforded  you  a  moment's  pleasure. 
As  for  my  description  of  the  eaux  bonnes  (Pyrenees),  it  is  finished;  and 
when  you  have  ten  minutes  absolutely  to  throw  away,  which  can  scarcely 
happen  in  Paris,  you  may  read  it,  and  afterwards  you  will  laugh  at  the 
thought  of  having  it  printed. 

Virginia  is  much  obliged  for  the  valuable  autograph  you  sent  to  her, 
as  well  as  for  your  good  intentions  regarding  her  collection  for  the 
future. 

Always,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  sincerely  yours, 

M.  MAYO  SCOTT. 

I  may  as  well  mention  that  everybody  had  been  talking  for 
some  months  past  of  a  wonderful  invention  by  a  Frenchman  of 
the  name  of  Daguerre.  After  years  of  experiment,  he  had  suc 
ceeded  in  reproducing  on  metal-plates  exact  images  of  all  objects 
by  the  simple  action  of  sunlight,  which  had  been  denominated 
daguerreotype.  This  was  destined  to  effect  a  strange  revolution, 
and  almost  supersede  the  art  of  engraving  as  well  as  of  portrait- 

*  The  popular  Christopher  Hughes,  U.S.  Minister  to  Sweden. 


5 1 8  Paris  Revisited. 


painting.  It  had,  however,  been  found  impossible  thus  far  to- 
reproduce  colours,  which  give  to  portraits  especially  their  chief 
merit,  although  far  greater  exactitude  in  likeness  was  obtained — 
a  higher  object  even  than  colour.  It  could  not  fail  to  be  em 
ployed  in  an  immense  number  of  ways,  and  would  certainly  be 
applied  in  copying  public  buildings,  landscapes,  and  I  know  not 
what  besides.  In  astronomy  it  would  be  found  of  the  utmost 
utility.  It  is  no  wonder  the  ingenious  inventor  was  pensioned 
by  the  Government,  and  honoured  by  universal  testimonies  to- 
his  genius. 


CHAPTER  LIV. 

PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

A  DINNER-PARTY — LADY  LYTTON  BULWER — CAUGHT  IN  A  TRAP — STRANGE 
DISCLOSURES — FRENCH  LAWYERS — A  'CAUSE  CfiLfeBRE.' 

ONE  day  in  November  I  received  a  visit  from  a  former  friend  of 
mine  in  London,  Sir  Henry  Webster,  a  colonel  of  the  British  army. 
He  was  a  son  of  the  famous  Lady  Holland  by  her  first  marriage, 
and  figured  as  aide-de-camp  to  the  Prince  of  Orange  at  the 
battle  of  Waterloo.  He  was  knighted  for  his  gallantry  on  that 
sanguinary  day.  Sir  Henry  was  a  handsome  and  very  agree 
able  man,  and  married  a  great  heiress,  the  only  child  of  a  Director 
of  the  East  India  Company.  He  came  to  tell  me  he  had  just 
arrived  in  Paris  with  his  family,  where  he  proposed  to  pass  the 
winter,  and  hoped  to  see  me  often.  On  leaving  he  invited  me  to 
dine  with  him  the  following  day,  to  meet  a  few  friends,  which  I 
readily  accepted.  I  found  quite  a  large  company  assembled  on 
the  occasion,  and  among  them  several  interesting  persons.  I 
was  presented  before  dinner  to  the  Earl  of  Munster,  a  natural 
son  of  William  IV.,  and  he  bore  a  strange  resemblance  to  his 
royal  uncle,  George  IV.  He  was  of  medium  height,  robust 
frame,  large  face,  with  a  heavy  expression,  and  black  bushy 
hair.  Rather  reserved  in  manner,  he  was  intelligent  and  cour 
teous.  His  Countess  was  also  present.  During  the  dinner  my 
attention  was  constantly  attracted  to  a  very  beautiful  woman, 
whose  merry  conversation  and  flashing  wit  greatly  diverted  the 
company.  She  seemed  about  thirty  ;  yet  her  complexion  was 
wonderfully  fresh,  her  features  delicate,  and  her  sparkling  eyes 
indicated  not  only  remarkable  intelligence,  but  great  warmth 
and  force  of  feeling.  She  talked  with  much  animation,  and 
always  said  the  most  telling  things  in  language  singularly  choice 
and  epigrammatic.  Who  could  she  be  ?  Certainly  no  ordinary 
woman.  I  was  completely  captivated  by  her  engaging  manners 
and  racy  discourse.  On  returning  to  the  drawing-room  after 
dinner  I  went  up  to  my  host,  and  said, 


520  Paris  Revisited. 


'  I  have  quite  lost  my  head  with  your  lovely  guest  yonder. 
Pray  present  me.' 

*  What,  you  don't  know  her  ?'  he  replied,  '  Come  along, 
then/ 

As  we  approached  her  he  remarked,  in  his  playful  way, 

'  Here  is  a  Yankee  friend  of  mine  dying  to  know  you,  Lady 
Bulwer.' 

This  was  indeed  a  surprise,  and  for  a  moment  I  was  quite 
confused.  I  sat  down  beside  her,  and  a  long  and  interesting 
chat  ensued.  In  the  course  of  it  I  observed  that  I  had  been 
talking  of  her  a  couple  of  months  ago  with  Lady  Blessington  at 
St.  Leonards-on-Sea. 

'  Oh,'  she  returned,  as  a  frown  gathered  on  her  fine  brow 
*  she  is  a  devoted  friend  of  iny  husband,  and  said  nothing  to  my 
advantage,  I  am  certain.' 

I  assured  her  to  the  contrary ;  and  when  I  rose  to  bid  her  good 
night  she  desired  me  to  come  and  see  her  soon,  which  I  declared 
would  afford  me  the  greatest  pleasure.  I  lost  no  time  in  profit 
ing  by  her  invitation,  and  a  cordial  and  intimate  acquaintance 
was  established.  I  was  not  long  in  discovering  that  Lady 
Bulwer  was  a  most  gifted  woman,  of  rare  grasp  and  brilliancy  of 
mind,  and  thoroughly  good-hearted  as  well  ;  but  her  nature  was 
impulsive  and  ardent,  and  she  gave  herself  up  without  reserve 
to  the  dominant  thought  or  passion  of  the  moment.  She  had 
separated  from  her  distinguished  husband  in  the  conviction  she 
had  suffered  great  wrong ;  but  after  listening  to  her  long  list  of 
grievances,  that  she  divulged  with  touching  eloquence, — as  we  be 
came  more  friendly, — I  could  really  discern  nothing  that  might 
not  have  been  compromised  or  easily  endured  with  a  more  patient 
spirit.  All  her  complaints,  frequently  couched  in  vehement 
language,  pointed  to  naught  else  than  an  imperious,  dictatorial 
temper,  quite  forgetting  that,  perhaps,  her  own  was  hardly  less 
sensitive  and  exacting.  Yet,  in  a  moment  of  anger,  she  had 
taken  the  rash  step  of  withdrawing  from  her  home  ;  and  now  she 
found  her  peace  of  mind  disturbed,  and  her  life  made  weary  and 
unhappy.  She  often  wept  over  the  loss  of  her  two  children,* 
whom  her  husband  thought  fit  to  retain  under  his  care,  that  the 
law  allowed  him  to  do,  and  she  would  have  momentarily  made  any 
concessions  to  have  recovered  even  one  of  them  ;  but  this  was 
no  longer  practicable.  It  was  sad  to  witness,  as  I  often  did,  the 

*  One  of  these  children  is  Lord  Lytton,  the  present  Viceroy  of  India. 


Paris  Revisited.  5  2 1 


varying  phases  of  her  discontented,  morbid  state  of  mind.  At 
times  she  was  irascible,  and  would  walk  the  floor,  declaiming  in 
indignant  but  splendid  language  against  the  injuries  she  had 
suffered,  quite  unconscious  that  she  was  in  any  degree  to  blame  ; 
and  then,  giving  way  to  a  softer  mood,  would  fall  into  a  chair,  and, 
with  her  beautiful  countenance  bathed  in  tears,  would  bewail  her 
lonely  wretched  condition,  bereft  of  husband,  children,  and  home 
"that  she  had  thoughtlessly  forsaken.  When  she  could  be  led 
away  from  the  contemplation  of  her  domestic  troubles,  and  began 
to  talk  of  literature,  of  art,  and  society,  she  fascinated  all  about 
her,  who  listened  in  supreme  delight  to  her  witty  and  dazzling 
inspirations. 

I  had  known  her  but  little  over  a  month,  though  our  acquaint 
ance  ripened  rapidly,  when  her  servant  came  to  me  one  day, 
saying  Lady  Bulwer  desired  to  see  me  immediately  on  an  im 
portant  matter.     I  complied  with  the  summons,  and  asked  her 
curiously  what  could   have  happened  to  make  my  presence  so 
necessary. 

1 A  very  strange  thing  has  occurred/  she  replied, '  and  I  wish 
your  advice.  When  I  was  out  last  evening  an  unknown  man 
came  here,  and  under  a  pretext  desired  to  see  my  maid.  She 
appeared,  and,  after  some  idle  palaver,  he  said  that  he  would 
make  her  a  present  of  a  thousand  francs  if  she  would  admit  him 
to  my  boudoir,  only  to  look  over  my  correspondence.  She  cun 
ningly  answered  that  she  would  think  about  it,  and  he  must 
come  again  on  Tuesday  night,  when  her  ladyship  would  be  at 
the  Opera.  Now  what  do  you  think  this  means,  and  what  am 
I  to  do  ?' 

*  Why,  what  an  odd  thing  !'  I  answered.     *  It  may  be,  how 
ever,  nothing  else  than  an  ingenious  attempt  to  make  the  ac 
quaintance  of  your  pretty  maid.' 

I 1  have  thought  of  that,'  she  replied.     *  But  suppose  it  is 
really  a  contrivance  of  my  enemies  to  get  at  my  letters.     What 
then  ?' 

I  reflected  for  a  few  minutes. 

*  In  that  case/  I  continued,  '  it  is  important  to  be  prepared 
for  a  second  visit  of  the  mysterious  interloper.     If  he  comes 
again  on  Tuesday,  bid  your  maid  to  say  she  will  accept  his 
present  and  gratify  his  wish.     Let  her  then  admit  him  to  your 
boudoir,  and  whilst  he  is  perusing  your  notes  he  can  be  arrested 
in  flagrant  dttit? 


522  Paris  Revisited. 


*  Admirably  planned  !'  she  exclaimed  ;  *  but  how  can  I  arrange 
all  that?' 

'  Leave  that  to  me,'  I.  said.  '  I  will  go  at  once  to  my  friend 
Charles  Ledru,  an  able  lawyer  of  great  energy,  and  we  will  settle 
the  necessary  details  between  us.' 

I  hurried  away  in  search  of  M.  Ledru,  widely  known  in  Paris 
for  his  forensic  abilities,  and  laid  the  case  before  him.  He  was 
astonished  to  hear  of  such  an  unusual  proceeding,  and  could 
hardly  believe  it  was  serious,  but,  if  so,  deserved  prompt  expo 
sure  and  punishment.  He  sent  at  once  for  a  commissaire  de 
police,  stated  the  matter  to  him,  and  asked  for  his  zealous  support, 
which,  of  course,  was  immediately  accorded. 

When  the  night  came  all  was  in  readiness.  About  nine 
o'clock  the  unknown  individual  presented  himself,  and  Murray, 
the  maid,  purposely  opened  the  door,  saying  it  was  all  right.  Her 
ladyship  had  gone  to  the  Opera,  and  she  had  sent  the  butler  out 
of  the  way.  So  he  might  go  into  the  boudoir  if  that  was  what  he 
wanted,  on  condition,  however,  of  his  giving  the  money  promised. 
The  unsuspecting  one  immediately  took  out  his  pocket-book,  and 
handed  to  Murray  the  sum  he  had  offered.  She  then  conducted 
him  to  the  room  in  question,  where  Lady  B.'s  desk  had  been  left 
unlocked,  and  he  immediately  began  to  investigate  its  contents. 
Whilst  he  was  examining  the  letters  found  there  a  police-agent 
put  his  hand  on  his  shoulder,  and  announced  he  was  in  custody. 
The  culprit  roared  out  in  great  fright  that  he  meant  no  harm, 
that  he  was  employed  merely  to  look  over  some  of  her  ladyship's 
letters,  and  begged  hard  to  be  allowed  to  go.  His  protestations 
were  of  no  avail,  and  he  was  carried  off  to  prison.  The  next  day 
he  was  interrogated  before  a  magistrate,  and,  under  apprehension 
of  some  severe  penalty,  he  declared  that  he  had  been  hired  for 
this  job  by  an  official  of  high  standing  connected  with  the  British 
Embassy  in  Paris,  whose  name  he  gave.  This  seemed  incredible, 
but  after  a  careful  examination  he  was  remanded  until  further 
steps  were  decided  on. 

It  turned  out  that  the  official  in  question  was  an  intimate 
friend  of  M.  Ledru,  and  he  said  to  me  in  confidence  that  he  felt 
the  liveliest  repugnance  to  following  up  the  affair  if  his  friend 
was  likely  to  be  involved  in  a  public  scandal,  and  one  of  rather 
an  odious  character.  I  sympathised  with  his  natural  considera 
tion  for  his  friend  so  highly  placed,  and  manifested  a  disposition 
to  compromise  matters  if  Lady  Bulwer's  interests  were  duly 


Paris  Revisited.  523 


cared  for.  But  I  warned  him  it  would  be  no  easy  thing  to  save 
his  friend  from  publicity;  for  his  irritated  client  would  demand 
this  before  everything  else  to  atone  for  the  outrage  she  had 
undergone. 

( If  you  retire  from  the  case,'  I  added,  *  she  will  employ  some 
body  else,  and  the  affair  will  be  pushed  to  extremities.1 

*  You  are  right/  he  remarked.  '  I  must  keep  it  in  my  hands 
to  save  my  friend,  and  I  will  work  with  you  cordially  to  obtain 
all  possible  advantage  for  Lady  Bulwer.  But  I  must  have  your 
cooperation,  cJier  Wikoff.  I  never  could  manage  my  lady  by 
myself.  You  have  influence  with  her  ;  and  between  us  we  may 
hush  up  this  unfortunate  imbroglio,  whilst  benefiting  the  posi 
tion  of  my  client,  your  lovely  friend.' 

I  consented  to  this,  for  I  had  a  dislike  to  humiliating  not 
only  a  high  official,  but  others  more  nearly  connected  with  Lady 
B.,  merely  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  her  angry  feelings  ;  and  I 
knew  that  a  conciliatory  policy  would  redound  far  more  to  her 
real  good,  which  was  my  only  object.  I  could  not  help  smiling 
at  the  quandaries  into  which  I  foresaw  she  would  plunge  Ledru, 
for  her  natural  impetuosity  was  greatly  stimulated  at  the  prospect 
•of  revenge  over  her  '  persecutors,'  as  she  called  them.  She  lost 
no  time,  as  I  anticipated,  in  relating  this  piquant  event  to  all  her 
friends,  and  it  soon  began  to  spread  widely  among  the  fashion 
able  English  colony  in  Paris.  She  burned  with  impatience  to 
have  it  all  printed  in  some  of  the  London  journals,  and  sent  for 
the  able  correspondent  of  the  Morning  Post,  with  whom  she  was 
acquainted,  and  entreated  his  aid  to  carry  out  her  object.  M. 
Ledru  was  greatly  troubled  when  he  heard  of  the  energetic 
•course  his  client  was  taking,  and  implored  me  to  restrain  and 
appease  her  excitement.  I  assured  him  I  was  making  the  most 
active  exertions,  and  kept  constantly  urging  upon  her  the  wisdom 
•of  seizing  this  opportunity  to  secure  certain  solid  advantages 
that  would  be  forfeited  if  she  rushed  prematurely  into  the  news 
papers.  Sometimes  I  succeeded  for  a  day  or  two,  as  I  informed 
him,  in  calming  down  her  extreme  irritation,  and  then  it  would 
burst  out  as  violently  as  ever,  forcing  me  to  despair  of  ever 
inducing  her  to  abandon  the  publicity  she  seemed  so  bent  upon. 
M.  Ledru  was  very  successful,  however,  in  convincing  his  client 
of  his  profound  sympathy  and  earnest  desire  to  promote  her 
welfare ;  but  he  begged  her  to  leave  the  management  of  the 
affair  in  his  hands,  and  not  to  increase  his  difficulties  by  any 


Paris  Revisited. 


indiscreet  or  passionate  act.  Up  to  this  time  she  put  implicit 
trust  in  the  adroit  French  advocate.  Things  were  in  this  con 
dition  when  I  received  from  her  the  following  letter : 

30  Rue  de  Rivoli,  Friday. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  am  sure,  with  your  usual  kindness,  you  will  for 
give  me  for  troubling  you  when  you  remember  that  this  is  the  crisis  of 
my  miserable  fate.  Don't  think  me  vindictive  if  I  beg  you  to  impress 
upon  that  demi-god,  M.  Ledru — whom  I  can  never  repay — that  nothing 
but  exposure  can  do  anything  with  the  Bulwers.  This  on  my  part  is 
merely  self-defence.  My  cause  has  already  been  wrecked  several  times 
by  gentlemen  believing  they  were  trustworthy,  and  consequently  accept 
ing  their  solemn  oaths  as  a  guarantee  of  future  good  conduct.  There  is 
no  oath  they  are  not  capable  of  taking  before  their  peers,  pour  se  tirer  de 
f  affaire,  and  violating  it  after.  I  see  clearly  a  deep-laid  scheme,  of  which 
M.  Ledru  should  be  fully  warned,  in  Henry  Bulwer  getting  my  cousin, 
Mr.  Bushe,  to  be  his  witness.  Bushe  has  never  seen  me  since  I  was  a 
child,  and  knows  not  one  syllable  of  the  painful  details  of  my  history.. 
It  is  only  meant  to  have  a  plausible  appearance  before  the  world,  in 
order  they  may  hereafter  say  that  my  own  relation  agreed  to  whatever 
cheat  it  is  intended  to  put  on  my  friends.  I  remember,  not  long  ago, 
Walter  Savage  Landor  left  me,  bravely  swearing  that  unless  my  poor 
children  were  given  up  to  me,  he  should  think  it  his  bounden  duty  to 
publish  certain  letters  in  his  hands,  and  declared  that  he  would  never  sit 
in  the  same  room  with  Sir  E.  Lytton  Bulwer  again.  Yet  he  ended  by 
being  gulled  by  my  Lady  Blessington's  machinations  into  drinking  wine 
with  him  before  twenty  people  the  very  next  day.  So  much  for  man 
with  man.  If  therefore  this  glorious  opportunity  of  exposing  them  all  as 
they  deserve  is  lost,  unless,  as  you  suggest,  great  advantages  can  be 
secured,  not  promised,  then  /  am  lost.  There  is  to  be  a  meeting  at  M. 
Ledru's  to-day  at  four  o'clock,  and  therefore  I  beg  of  you  to  impress  all 
this  upon  him  beforehand.— I  cannot  get  a  pen  that  will  tell  you  how 
sincerely  I  am,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  your  grateful  and  obliged 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

This  emphatic  missive  plainly  indicated  the  inflammable  state 
of  the  poor  lady's  mind,  and  made  the  prospect  of  effecting  any 
amicable  adjustment  very  difficult  and  doubtful.  I  hastened 
away  to  my  friend  Ledru,  to  whom  I  read  it  carefully,  whilst 
he  pondered  on  the  chances  of  bridging  over  the  yawning 
chasm  before  him.  When  I  told  him  that  Lady  B.  had  already 
related  everything  to  the  correspondent  of  the  Morning  Post* 
urging  the  most  expeditious  publication  possible,  he  jumped 


Paris  Revisited.  525 


from  his  chair,  declaring  that  this  must  be  prevented  at  all 
hazards,  and  entreated  me  to  lend  a  hand  to  effect  it.  I  felt 
reluctant  to  venture  on  such  dangerous  intervention,  which  might 
put  me  in  a  false  position,  and  recommended  him  to  see  his  client 
at  once  to  divert  her  from  her  purpose.  '  I  will  go  to  her  this 
evening,'  he  declared,  '  and  insist  that  nothing  shall  be  said,  at 
least  for  a  little  while.  I  will  tell  her  I  am  going  into  the 
country  for  a  few  days,  and  that  everything  must  be  kept  quiet 
till  my  return.  This  will  give  time  for  reflection  at  all  events,, 
and  then  we  may  manage  to  stave  off  this  explosion/  *  A  good 
idea,'  I  observed.  '  Do  so  by  all  means.'  Late  that  evening 
I  received  a  note  from  her  which  showed  that  his  ruse  had 
succeeded : 

Friday  night. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  saw  M.  Ledru  to  night,  who  said  he  had  to  go 
some  hundred  and  fifty  miles  into  the  country  to-morrow,  and  begged 
that  nothing  might  be  done  until  his  return,  which  would  be  in  three  or 
four  days.  So,  perhaps,  Mr.  Gruneisen,  50  Rue  St.  Anne,  had  better  not 
say  anything  in  the  Morning  Post  just  yet.  Would  you  have  the  good 
ness  to  see  Mr.  G.  early  in  the  morning,  and  suggest  a  postponement  of 
the  publication  ? — Pray  forgive  this  incessant  trouble,  and  believe  me 
your  grateful,  though  obliged, 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

Will  you  have  the  kindness  to  come  to  me  to-morrow  about  four 
o'clock  ? 

So  far  so  well,  methought,  after  reading  the  above.  At  least,, 
poor  Ledru  has  got  a  respite  for  the  nonce. 

I  called,  of  course,  on  the  gentlemanly  correspondent  of  the 
Morning  Post  the  next  day,  and  requested,  in  Lady  B.'s  name, 
the  suppression  for  a  short  time  of  the  information  she  had  fur 
nished  him,  which  he  readily  conceded.  In  fact,  he  said  he  felt 
considerable  repugnance  to  saying  anything  about  it ;  but  he  re 
garded  it  as  his  duty  as  a  correspondent  not  to  ignore  altogether 
such  a  racy  tit-bit  as  this,  affecting  so  many  prominent  people, 
although  he  could  not  handle  it  in  a  way,  he  feared,  to  give 
satisfaction  to  Lady  B.,  who  was  overflowing  with  indignation, 
and  expected  stronger  language  than  it  was  possible  to  employ. 
I  remarked  that  her  lawyer  was  averse  to  the  affair  being  laid 
before  the  public  at  all,  as  he  believed  he  would  then  be  able 
to  obtain  far  greater  advantages  for  his  client.  Above  all,  he 
deprecated  any  precipitate  announcement  whatever. 


526  Paris  Revisited. 


'  If  it  is  hushed  up,  so  much  the  better  for  all  concerned,' 
added  the  courteous  representative  of  the  fashionable  organ  ; 
"  but  if  not,  I  shall  be  obliged  to  take  some  notice  of  it.' 

Ledru  was  vastly  delighted  to  learn  that  the  dreaded  bomb 
was  not  yet  to  be  fired,  and  he  went  to  work  with  greater 
zeal  than  ever  to  lay,  if  possible,  the  ugly  spectre  that  we  had 
both  unconsciously  raised.  He  determined  to  *  stay  in  the 
country/  as  he  had  pretended  to  Lady  B.,  as  long  as  he  possibly 
could  manage  it  without  exciting  her  suspicions,  and,  with  his 
usual  empressement,  he  supplicated  me  to  employ  every  means  I 
could  think  of  to  assuage  her  animosity,  lull  her  anger,  and 
tranquillise  her  feelings.  '  Take  her  to  the  Opera  and  theatres,' 
he  advised,  '  get  up  dinners  for  her,  organise  excursions  to  Fon- 
tainebleau  or  elsewhere.  For  Heaven's  sake,  keep  her  occupied 
and  amused  till  I  can  utilise  the  short  time  at  my  disposal  to 
close  the  door  on  this  unpleasant  business,  and  prevent  the  public 
eye  from  scanning  it  further.'  I  applauded  his  judicious  counsel, 
and  promised,  of  course,  to  assist  his  strenuous  efforts  to  really 
serve  Lady  B.,  though  in  a  different  way  than  she  desired.  I 
carried  out  Ledru's  injunctions,  and  arranged  various  parties  of 
various  kinds  on  the  soothing  system  recommended ;  but  although 
I  could  perceive  the  volcano  was  less  active,  I  suspected  the 
flames  would  not  fail  to  reappear  in  due  time.  Here  is  one  of 
her  notes  during  this  quiescent  interval : 

Wednesday. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  shall  have  much  pleasure  in  accompanying  you 
to  the  Opera  to-night.  Pray  come  punctually  at  7.30,  as  I  must  call  for 
Lady  A.,  in  the  Faubourg  St.  Honore",  to  go  with  us.  I  will  explain  to 
night  why  I  was  compelled  to  decline  your  kind  offer  of  yesterday.  All 
you  say  in  your  note  is  true.  I  feel  your  advice  is  sound  ;  but  I  so  heartily 
despise  the  *  official,'  as  you  style  him,  as  well  as  those  allied  with  him, 
and  I  may  even  add,  the  world  generally,  Que  je  nten  moque  comme 
de  Van  40  /  All  my  life  I  might  have  lived  in  a  glass  house,  and  had  I 
much  vanity  or  ambition  I  should  court  rather  than  shun  inspection. 
Thanks  to  the  spies  round  me,  now  I  do  live  in  a  glass  house.  They 
may  shiver  it  with  their  dastardly  missiles,  but  they  shall  not  shake  me, 
even  with  the  zealous  assistance  of  Lady  Blessington,  or  any  other  Mes- 
salina,  old  or  young. — In  haste,  your  ever  obliged 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

A  very  merciless  blow  that  at  my  good  friend  Lady  Blessing- 
ton,  I  mused  ;  but  as  she  has  taken  up  her  quarters  in  the  oppo- 


Paris  Revisited.  527 


site  camp  she  must  expect  occasionally  the  flourish  of  the 
scimetar  over  her  head,  with  a  thrust  or  a  cut  as  opportunity 
serves.  She  held,  I  knew,  the  renowned  author  of  Pelham  in 
great  veneration,  and  naturally  espoused  his  unfortunate  quarrel 
with  his  high-spirited  wife.  She  wielded,  too,  great  influence  on 
her  literary  throne  in  Gore  House,  as  is  proved  conclusively  by 
her  manipulation  of  the  celebrated  Walter  Savage  Landor. 
Much  as  I  liked  the  Countess  of  Blessington,  I  could  not,  out 
of  sympathy  for  Lady  Bulwer,  seriously  censure  the  strong 
expression  of  her  indignant  feelings  at  the  undoubted  partisan 
ship  of  the  influential  authoress.  Poor  Lady  Bulwer,  in  her 
moments  of  excitement,  sometimes  railed  against  the  men  for 
uniting  with  each  other  in  their  conflicts  with  women  ;  and  then 
she  would  assail  her  own  sex  for  not  joining  hands  in  their  own 
defence  against  their  male  persecutors.  I  listened  with  imper 
turbable  calmness  to  such  angry  blasts,  and  then  strove  to 
appease  these  hysterical  outbursts  as  well  as  I  could. 

After  a  week  of  gentle  dissipation,  according  to  Ledru's  recipe, 
I  remembered  that  a  grand  ball  was  coming  off  at  the  Tuileries, 
and  proposed  escorting  her  to  this  splendid /<?/£. 

'How  could  I  get  an  invitation,' she  exclaimed,  'except  through 
the  British  Embassy?  and  I  would  refuse  to  enter  heaven  by  that 
channel !' 

'  No  necessity  for  the  Embassy,'  I  replied.  *  I  can  obtain  the 
invitation  through  a  friend  at  Court.' 

'  Then  I  should  be  delighted  to  go,  for  I  have  not  yet  seen  the 
royal  family,'  was  her  answer. 

Another  week  was  consumed  in  getting  ready  for  the  Court 
ball,  where  I  accompanied  her  and  Lady  Webster.  I  was  now 
nearly  at  my  wits'  ends  to  prevent  her  looking  after  the  missing 
Ledru,  when  luckily  I  found  her  one  day  in  terrible  agitation 
over  the  disappearance  of  her  'dear  darling  little  Taffy,'  a 
favourite  poodle.  For  some  days  Ledru,  the  *  official,'  and  Gore 
House  were  all  forgotten  in  her  new  misfortune.  Paris  was 
placarded  in  every  direction  with  offers  of  reward  for  Taffy's 
restoration,  and  even  Vidocq,  the  illustrious  thief-catcher,  was 
enrolled  in  the  eager  pursuit  of  the  stray  pet.  To  the  joy  of  his 
mistress  Taffy  was  found,  and  nestled  once  more  securely  in  her 
loving  arms.  The  flurry  was  hardly  over  when  I  received  this 
impatient  remonstrance : 


528  Paris  Revisited. 


Thursday,  30  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoft, — I  fear  you  will  think  me  very  troublesome,  but  I 
have  heard  nothing  yet  of  or  from  M.  Ledru,  and  I  begin  to  sink  rather 
more,  if  possible,  into  despair  than  usual,  and  fear  that  this  last  business 
will  end,  as  all  former  ones  have  done,  in  an  additional  triumph  to  the 
Bulwers,  and  fresh  defeat  and  persecution  for  me,  especially  as  the  time 
now  seems  almost  gone  by  to  do  anything  that  could  serve  me.  I  hear 
that  dastardly  little  'official'  is  going  about  saying  that  even  I  am  perfectly 
satisfied  with  his  honourable  conduct  in  the  affair.  A  greater  or  meaner 
fabrication  he  never  uttered. 

I  have  had  a  final  billet — anything  but  doux — from  the  amiable 
Vidocq,  enclosing  me  a  bill  of  95  francs  for  the  men  he  employed  tc* 
look  after  poor  Taffy,  and  saying  that  he  leaves  it  to  my  generosity  to 
reward  his  services  as  he  is  sure  I  feel  they  deserve  1  Now,  having 
already  paid  100  francs  to  the  old  fellow  at  the  Louvre,  I  cannot  help 
suspecting  that  they  are  both  in  league  to  cheat  me  as  much  as  pos 
sible.  As  the  old  man  swears  he  bought  the  dog  the  day  after  it  was 
lost,  I  don't  know  what  Vidocq's  great  services  have  been.  Would  you 
have  the  kindness  to  tell  me  how  much  you  think  I  ought  to  give  Vi 
docq,  as  I  am  not  rich  enough  to  be  cheated  more  than  it  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  a  woman  should  be  on  every  occasion  in  this  best  of  all 
possible  worlds  ? — Forgive  this  trouble,  and  believe  me,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff, 
ever  yours  sincerely, 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

I  kept  Ledru  constantly  informed  of  all  that  was  passing- 
during  his  supposed  '  sojourn  in  the  country,'  and  of  my  assidu 
ous  endeavours  and  desperate  expedients  to  keep  '  milady'  com 
paratively  quiet,  and  prevent  her  resorting  to  the  newspapers. 
I  notified  him,  however,  that  he  must  push  on  his  negotiations ; 
for  I  felt  that  both  my  ingenuity  and  strength  were  oozing  away, 
and  I  was  in  daily  terror  lest  some  fine  morning  Lady  Bulwer 
should  suddenly  turn  round,  and,  in  her  usual  frank  manner, 
express  suspicions  of  me,  and  perhaps  denounce  him  for  trifling 
with  her  interests,  if  not  for  deliberately  seeking  to  defeat  all 
her  hopes  of  revenge.  '  Remember/  I  said,  '  that,  woman-like, 
she  thinks  far  more  of  gratifying  her  animosity  against  the 
"  official"  and  the  rest  than  of  securing  the  most  solid  gains/ 

*  I  count  upon  you/  he  replied,  ( to  thwart  her  from  carrying 
out  any  such  childlike  purpose.  I  am  getting  on  most  satis 
factorily  with  the  arrangements  I  proposed  with  a  view  to  a 
pacific  settlement.  I  will  obtain  a  considerable  increase  of  her 
income,  and  accomplish  other  objects  that  will  be  most  accept- 


Paris  Revisited.  529 


able  to  her.  All  this  cannot  be  done  in  a  day.  I  must  have 
more  time.  For  goodness'  sake,  cher  ami,  struggle  on  but  a 
little  longer,  till  I  conclude  my  treaty  of  peace,  and  then  we 
can  explain  to.  Lady  Bulwer  how  zealously  we  have  laboured  to 
constrain  her  antagonists  to  yield  all  the  concessions  demanded. 
I  am  greatly  mistaken  if  she  will  not  appreciate  all  that  has 
been  done,  and  crown  our  services  in  her  behalf  with  the  heartiest 
expressions  of  her  gratitude.  She  is  impetuous,  I  know,  and 
wincing  under  a  sense  of  ill-treatment,  and  stung  almost  to  fury 
by  the  haughty  defiance  of  her  adversaries.  Yet  I  cling  to  the 
hope  that  we  can  bring  her  to  a  more  rational  state  of  mind, 
when  her  beautiful  face  will  light  up  with  smiles,  as  she  gives 
utterance  to  her  joy  at  having  been  precluded  from  injuring  both 
herself  and  others,  and  throwing  away  the  unquestionable  benefits 
acquired  for  her.' 

'That's  a  very  pretty  picture  you  have  drawn,  mon  cher 
Ledru,'  I  returned,  *  and  it  does  credit  to  your  head  and  heart  ; 
but  I  am  very  uneasy  at  any  longer  delay.  At  all  events,  I 
insist  on  your  going  at  once  to  see  your  client  to  announce  your 
return  "  from  the  country."  It  is  a  wonder  she  has  not  heard  of 
your  being  in  Paris,  though  you  have  kept  so  carefully  out  of  the 
way.  You  can  manage  in  conversation  to  draw  off  her  impatience, 
and  to  convince  her  that  you  are  as  active  as  ever  in  prosecuting 
her  cause.  I  must  have  some  relief,  or  I  shall  infallibly  break 
down  under  the  weight  put  on  my  shoulders.' 

*  Vous  avez  raison',  responded  the  supple  Frenchman.  *  I  will 
take  your  advice,  and  go  see  "  milady"  forthwith.' 

Accordingly  he  went  next  day,  and  found  her  fuming  over 
his  prolonged  absence.  He  endeavoured  to  reassure  her  as  to 
his  entire  devotion,  and  sought  to  dissipate  all  anxiety  and  doubt 
on  that  vital  point.  He  left  her  convinced  he  had  quite  reestab 
lished  his  influence,  and  would  succeed,  bon  gr^  mal  gr^  in 
bringing  her  safely  into  port,  finally  rescued  from  the  dangers 
of  shipwreck  she  had  so  often  and  eagerly  courted.  This  was 
all  very  pleasant  news  for  me.  I  began  to  think  my  period  of 
probation  was  nearly  over,  and  that  our  joint  manoeuvres  for 
everybody's  welfare  were  near  their  fruition.  I  was  looking  for 
ward  to  a  vote  of  thanks  from  all  sides.  In  this  delectable  mood 
I  called  upon  her  a  day  or  two  after  Ledru's  visit  ;  and  imagine 
my  consternation  to  learn  that  meanwhile  she  had  encountered 
at  a  dinner-party  the  famous  politician  and  lawyer,  Odillon 

MM 


530  Paris  Revisited. 


Barrot.  She  had  related  her  whole  case  to  him,  she  said ; 
whereat  he  had  expressed  the  greatest  asonishment  and  indig 
nation.  Nothing  was  easier,  he  declared,  than  to  inflict  on  all 
concerned  the  most  condign  punishment.  The  man  who  was 
caught  in  her  house  tampering  with  her  correspondence  should 
be  brought  before  the  court,  and  his  extorted  revelations  would 
lead  to  the  complete  exposure  of  the  conspiracy,  and  the  utter 
disgrace  of  all  the  parties  to  it. 

'  There  !  What  did  I  tell  you  ?'  cried  Lady  Bulwer,  in  the 
highest  glee.  *  I  knew  I  could  obtain  the  fullest  redress  against 
all  these  vile  plotters,  and  I  will  follow  them  up  if  it  costs  me 
every  penny  I  have.  I  begin  to  fear  that  M.  Ledru  is  either 
reluctant,  or  incapable  of  conducting  this  business.' 

I  hastened  to  break  a  lance  in  behalf  of  the  suspected  Ledru, 
and  reminded  her  how  active  and  energetic  he  had  always  proved 
himself,  and  sought  to  dispel  her  incipient  misgivings.  I  did 
my  best  to  conceal  my  vexation  at  this  unlooked-for  contretemps^ 
and,  as  soon  as  I  could  beat  a  retreat  without  attracting  her 
attention,  I  pleaded  an  engagement,  and  directed  my  steps  to 
Ledru's  office. 

'  Quel  malheurf  he  exclaimed,  after  I  stated  what  had  hap 
pened,  and  walked  to  and  fro  in  feverish  agitation.  '  What's  to 
be  done  now  ?'  he  demanded.  '  I  fear  all  is  lost.' 

'  What  I  fear  most,'  I  observed,  '  is  that  she  will  throw  you 
over ;  and  then  down  the  abyss  she  is  certain  to  go,  dragging 
everybody  with  her.  Odillon  Barrot  has  immense  prestige  at 
the  bar  and  before  the  world.  How  can  we  get  her  out  of  his 
hands  ?  Otherwise,  as  you  say,  all  is  lost.' 

Ledru  was  utterly  upset.  He  desired,  naturally,  if  the  case 
must  go  on,  to  be  Lady  Bulwer's  leading  counsel,  for  the  sake 
of  his  professional  folat ;  but  he  had  waived  this  hitherto,  in 
the  honest  wish  to  protect  the  interests  of  all. 

'  Yes,  it  is  not  at  all  unlikely,'  he  continued,  *  she  will  give  me 
up  for  Odillon  Barrot.  It  will  not  be  difficult  to  find  fault,  and 
allege  complaints  that  will  justify  her,  in  her  own  eyes,  putting 
her  case  in  new  hands.  I  should  regret  this  more  for  her  own 
sake  than  mine.  If  you  cannot  check  her,  cher  Wikoff,  then  the 
end  is  inevitable.' 

'  Let  us  sleep  over  it,'  I  suggested.  *  I  will  come  to-morrow, 
and  we  may  decide  on  what  course  to  steer  ;  perhaps  a  new  one 
may  be  necessary.  I  have  some  influence  with  her,  and  will 


Paris  Revisited.  531 


stoutly  oppose  her  withdrawing  from  you,  if  she  really  dreams 
of  it  I  can  hardly  believe  she  ever  would.' 

'  Cest  bienl  he  said,  in  downcast  tones  ;  '  d  demain,  d  demain, 
— to-morrow,  to-morrow.5 

The  ensuing  morning  my  apprehensions  were  verified.  The 
subjoined  note  showed  that  she  longed  to  employ  a  more  active 
combatant  than  the  temporising  Ledru  : 

Saturday,  30  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff,— How  can  I  ever  sufficiently  thank  you  for  all  the 
trouble  you  have  so  kindly  taken  and  I  have  so  unmercifully  given  you 
in  my  unhappy  business  !  However,  I  may  not  always  be  in  the  miser 
able  and  unable-to-show-gratitude  position  I  am  now  in. 

I  fear  Ledru  is  tormented  by  people  who  have  been  set  on  to  croak 
at  him  for  taking  up  the  cause  of  so  unprotected  a  person  as  I  am.  If 
he  feels  at  all  sorry  or  frightened  at  having  done  so,  I  wish  he  would 
honestly  say  so,  and  give  it  up.  Odillon  Barrot  would  then  undertake  it ; 
but  he  won't  act  in  conjunction  with  Ledru.  This,  of  course,  I  cannot 
tell  the  latter.  There  is,  I  must  say,  a  Frenchiness  about  Ledru  that  I 
own  makes  me  tremble.  The  other  night  he  was  to  have  sent  me  a 
letter  that  he  said  was  indispensable  I  should  send  to  Mr.  H.  instanter* 
It  has  never  yet  come.  Again,  on  Friday,  it  was  of  '  vital  importance' 
that  Murray  should  go  at  nine  o'clock  with  his  clerk  to  bring  the  woman 
who  was  with  her  when  T.  met  her.  From  that  hour  to  this  no  clerk 
has  appeared.  For  God's  sake,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  don't  let  him  delay  the 
translating  and  printing  of  the  paper  I  gave  you  yesterday  !  I  want  100 
copies  in  French,  and  i  coin  English  ;  and  tell  the  translator  and  printer 
to  send  to  me  for  payment.  Above  all,  don't  let  Ledru  alter  one  word 
out  of  delicacy  to  his  friend  H.  Bulwer.  It  is  not  to  be  published  ;  and 
if  it  were,  that  is  my  affair,  and  nobody  else's. 

I  need  hardly  say  that  I  shall  be  most  happy  to  see  any  friend  of 
yours  you  wish  to  present.  From  your  great  kindness  to  me,  I  feel  that 
all  your  friends  are  mine,  as  I  am  ever,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  most  sincerely 
yours, 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

It  was  only  too  plain  that  all  Ledru's  well-meant  artifices  to 
obtain  delay,  in  order  to  patch  up  this  unhappy  family  squabble, 
on  the  French  principle  of '  washing  dirty  linen  at  home/  must 
come  to  naught.  Lady  Bulwer  was  desperately  resolved  on  an 
appeal  to  the  public,  believing  their  sympathies  would  sustain 
her,  but  knowing  well  that  such  a  course  would  annoy  her  dis 
tinguished  husband,  and  be  'gall  and  wormwood'  to  all  who  had 


532  Paris  Revisited. 


sided  with  him.  I  had  reasoned  with  her  for  hours  and  days, 
and  found  at  last  the  truth  of  the  familiar  lines : 

'She  that  complies  against  her  will 
Is  of  her  own  opinion  still.1 

To  persist  in  the  same  course  of  resistance  to  her  wishes  would 
only  end  in  my  ceasing  to  be  her  '  guide,  philosopher,  and  friend,' 
and  in  becoming  to  her  jaundiced  vision  an  enemy  in  disguise, 
disposed  to  play  into  the  hands  of  the  '  adverse  faction.'  I  had 
-seen  enough  of  Lady  Bulwer  to  be  satisfied  of  her  goodness  of 
heart,  whilst  her  intelligence  was  beyond  all  question.  Indeed, 
she  was  one  of  those  blest  *  with  too  much  quickness  ever  to  be 
taught.'  In  her  case,  however,  heart  and  mind  were  all  absorbed, 
or  rather  buried,  under  a  seething  mass  of  bitter  recollections 
and  scorching  affronts.  She  was  determined  to  pull  down  the 
pillars  of  the  temple,  caring  little  if  she  were  crushed  or  not.  As 
for  Ledru,  it  was  evident  his  strategy  was  exhausted.  She  began 
to  suspect  either  bad  faith  or  timidity,  and  any  further  dallying 
on  his  part  would  be  resented  by  her  employing  other  counsel, 
who  cared  nothing,  or  knew  nothing,  of  her  interests  as  wife  and 
mother,  but  simply  took  a  purely  legal  view  of  the  best  means  to 
secure  the  redress  she  sought.  It  grieved  me  not  a  little  to  see 
the  collapse  of  all  Ledru's  anxious  efforts  to  avert  a  catastrophe ; 
and  whilst  I  was  still  engaged  in  pondering  over  the  situation 
another  discontented  note  reached  me,  proving  the  restless  chafing 
state  of  the  writer's  mind  : 

Saturday  night,  30  Rue  de  Rivoli. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  fear  you  will  abandon  Paris,  thinking  the  plague 
is  raging  at  sight  of  another  note  from  me  ;  but  the  more  I  think  over 
and  hear  of  Ledru's  conduct,  the  more  I  feel  that  he  is  wrecking  me.  I 
will  still  hope,  but  in  spite  of  the  false  position  he  has  taken.  Treach 
erous  he  most  unquestionably  is  to  H.  Bulwer  or  to  me.  Why  should  he 
be  so  to  either?  I  don't  like  it.  He  gave  me  his  honour — this  is 
Carnival  time,  so  men  may  talk  about  that  phantom — last  night  that 
he  would  expose  H.  Bulwer  to-day.  We  shall  see.  But  what  is  the  use 
of  continually  telling  me  that  he  thinks  H.  Bulwer  more  wicked  and  more 
foolish  than  I  do,  and  yet  appear  in  society  the  best  possible  friends 
with  him?  Such  crooked  conduct  no  expediency — particularly  in  so 
very  plain  a  case — can  render  necessary,  and  no  results  can  justify. 
May  I  then  trouble  you,  first  to  read,  and  then  to  seal  and  take  to  him, 
the  enclosed  letter  ?  If  I  find  that  Ledru  has  also  acted  a  manly  part, 
and  sold  me,  I  think  I  had  better  gratify  the  Bulwers  at  once  by  walking 


Paris  Revisited.  533 


out  of  the  world,  for  all  this  is  a  little  too  much  for  one  poor  wretch  to 
bear. — Forgive  all  this  trouble,  if  you  can,  and  believe  me,  dear  Mr. 
Wikoff,  your  sincerely  obliged 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

The  note  addressed  to  Ledru  she  desired  me  to  deliver  was 
temperate  but  positive.  Would  he  go  on,  or  not,  to  vindicate  her 
in  the  mode  she  demanded?  That  was  the  substance,  and  left  no 
alternative.  Putting  on  my  hat,  I  wended  my  sorrowful  way  to 
my  friend's  residence.  He  read  over  the  note  addressed  to  him, 
and  listened  to  that  written  to  me.  For  a  while  he  was  plunged 
in  thought,  and  then  slowly  enunciated : 

'  Alea  jacta  est !  She  is  inflexible,  and  peremptorily  closes 
the  door  on  all  compromise.  To  struggle  longer  is  useless.  My 
loyal  tactics  to  serve  her  are  regarded  as  manoeuvres  to  benefit 
her  husband.  She  will  have  publicity,  and  invokes  the  interven 
tion  of  the  law,  hoping  to  humiliate  those  so  near  to  her,  and  to 
vindicate  the  course  she  has  taken.  I  know  she  will  be  disap 
pointed,  and  that  chagrin  and  vexation  will  overtake  her.  Odillon 
Barrot  has  told  her  that  the  only  plan  to  adopt  is  to  bring  an 
action  against  the  man  arrested  in  her  apartment.  So  be  it.  Pray 
call  and  tell  her  I  have  done  so.  I  shall  go  immediately  and  enter 
the  case  for  trial.' 

Deploring  as  he  did  the  utter  failure  of  our  joint  expectations 
-of  a  satisfactory  denouement \  I  left  him,  as  he  stepped  into  a  car 
riage  on  his  way  to  the  Criminal  Court.  I  went  at  once  to  Lady 
Bulwer  and  announced  what  had  occurred.  I  told  her  frankly 
that  Ledru  had  diplomatised,  with  my  knowledge,  as  long  as  he 
could,  in  the  sole  and  ardent  hope  of  compounding  this  unhappy 
quarrel.  Since  she  insisted  on  an  appeal  to  the  arbitrament  of 
the  law,  he  obeyed  her  behests,  and  by  this  time  the  case  was 
inscribed  on  the  records  of  the  Tribunal.  She  expressed  supreme 
satisfaction. 

'  At  last/  she  exclaimed, '  I  shall  triumph  over  all  the  intrigues 
and  malice  that  have  hitherto  pursued  me.  My  wrongs  will  be 
made  known,  and  my  enemies  be  confounded.' 

Not  much  over  a  month  elapsed  before  the  trial  came  on  of 
the  man  arrested  in  Lady  Bulwer's  residence  for  tampering  sur 
reptitiously  with  her  correspondence  ;  and  as  the  event  had  be 
come  by  this  time  widely  known,  the  court  was  crowded  to  excess 
with  all  that  was  rechercht  in  fashionable  and  diplomatic  life,  who 
flocked  thither  in  glowing  anticipation  of  a  rich  feast  of  scandal. 


534  Paris  Revisited. 


When  Ledru  found  it  necessary,  in  compliance  with  Lady  Bui- 
wer's  determination,  to  go  on  with  her  case,  he  decided  to  call  to 
his  aid  the  invaluable  cooperation  of  the  first  orator  of  the  day, 
the  renowned  advocate  and  deputy,  M.  Berryer.  It  turned  out 
oddly  enough  that  Odillon  Barrot,  equally  prominent  at  the  bar 
and  in  politics,  and  whom  Lady  Bulwer  at  first  wished  to  employ, 
now  appeared  as  her  antagonist,  being  retained  as  the  counsel  of 
her  husband,  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer. 

When  the  President  of  the  Court  took  his  seat,  M.  Berryer 
rose  to  open  the  proceedings.  His  fine  face,  grand  manner,  and 
noble  person,  that  borrowed  additional  grace  from  his  silk  gown 
of  avocat,  prepossessed  at  once  the  whole  audience.  In  his  clear 
sympathetic  voice  he  stated  the  offence  committed,  and  in  admir 
able  language  enlarged  upon  its  heinous  character.  He  informed 
the  court  that  the  culprit  declared  he  had  been  incited  to  the 
criminal  act  by  Mr.  Henry  Bulwer,  Secretary  of  the  British 
Embassy  at  Paris  ;  but  however  discreditable  that  might  be  to 
the  gentleman  in  question,  it  did  not  in  any  way  mitigate  the 
felonious  trespass  of  which  the  former  had  been  guilty.  His 
preliminary  address  was  a  perfect  gem  of  oratory,  and  its  effect 
was  unmistakable. 

Ledru  next  rose,  and  was  about  to  call  for  the  production 
of  the  prisoner,  when  Odillon  Barrot  suddenly  got  up  and 
claimed  the  attention  of  the  court  prior  to  taking  any  further 
steps.  He  said  this  was  an  action  brought  by  Lady  Lytton 
Bulwer,  the  wife  of  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer,  now  residing  in 
England.  Opening  a  volume  in  his  hand,  he  begged  to  read  to 
the  court  a  law  of  the  land,  perfectly  familiar,  of  course,  to  the 
judge  he  had  the  honour  to  address  ;  and  proceeded  at  once  to 
do  so.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  no  married  woman  could  initiate 
a  suit  at  law  without  the  express  permission  and  cooperation  of 
her  husband.  He  desired  to  know,  therefore,  whether  Lady  Bul- 
wer's  counsel  were  provided  with  this  indispensable  adjunct, 
otherwise  he  should  call  upon  the  court  to  dismiss  the  case. 

M.  Berryer  admitted,  in  reply,  that  Lady  Bulwer  had  not 
applied  to  her  husband  for  his  consent  to  institute  this  prosecu 
tion,  as  she  had  not  anticipated  he  would  invoke  the  law  to  pre 
vent  the  punishment  of  so  gross  an  outrage  upon  the  sanctity  of 
her  domicile.  M.  Berryer  protested  energetically  against  the  un 
justifiable  intervention  of  Sir  Edward  Lytton  Bulwer,  who  was 
evidently  more  anxious  to  screen  his  brother,  implicated  in  the 


Paris  Revisited.  535 


charge,  than  to  protect  his  wife  against  a  conspiracy  that  stooped 
to  the  vilest  means  to  effect  its  purpose.  The  President  of  the 
Court  said  that,  however  deplorable  it  was  that  so  atrocious  an 
offence  should  go  unscourged  of  justice,  he  had  no  alternative 
but  to  dismiss  the  case.  The  disappointment  of  the  auditory 
was  profound,  and  it  was  the  universal  opinion  that  Sir  Edward 
Lytton  Bulwer  was  particeps  criminis,  and  feared  that  if  a  legal 
investigation  took  place  the  fact  might  be  disclosed  that  he  had 
instigated  his  brother  Henry  to  obtain  access  to  Lady  Bulwer's 
correspondence  by  any  process  he  chose  to  adopt. 

M.  Ledru  published,  the  following  day,  a  very  able  letter, 
arraigning  Henry  Bulwer  as  the  real  author  of  a  most  disreput 
able  act,  and  indulged  in  comments  of  a  very  damaging  character. 
Although  this  scandalum  magnatum  fell  to  the  ground  in  the 
manner  shown,  yet  the  sensation  produced  was  deep  and  pro 
longed.  The  private  bickerings  between  Lady  Bulwer  and  her 
husband  were  thus  brought  fully  before  the  public,  and  caused 
all  the  friends  of  the  illustrious  writer  to  regret  sincerely  the  ill- 
advised  course  that  had  been  pursued  against  his  wife.  The 
result,  therefore,  did  not  dishearten  Lady  Bulwer  in  the  least 
She  had  yearned  for  publicity,  and  she  had  accomplished  it.  The 
mere  punishment  of  an  obscure  tool  she  cared  nothing  about,  but 
rejoiced  in  the  detrimental  exposure  that  had  befallen  her  brother- 
in-law,  whom  she  disliked  most  cordially.  I  hoped  the  upshot  of 
all  this  would  be  that  Lady  Bulwer  would  calm  down  and  submit 
to  the  harsh  decrees  of  Fate.  But  her  ungovernable  spirit  was 
still  unbroken. 

'  I  have  been  shamefully  ill-treated/  she  constantly  exclaimed ; 
1  but  I  will  never  relax  my  efforts  to  obtain  redress.  I  know  the 
odds  are  against  me,  and  that  money  and  influence  will  be  em 
ployed  unsparingly  to  prostrate  me  ;  yet  I  will  struggle  on  to 
the  last.1 

It  would  have  been  easy  enough  to  have  ended  this  unhappy 
quarrel  if  due  respect  had  been  shown  to  her  feelings  as  a 
mother  and  her  claims  as  a  wife.  Persecution  and  disdain 
only  stimulated  her  anger,  and  drove  her  to  desperate  acts  of 
retaliation. 


CHAPTER  LV. 

PARIS  REVISITED  (continued}. 

A  STRONG  APPEAL — MRS.   GROTE — LETTER  FROM  MR.  PRICE — A  SHOAL  OF 
INTRODUCTIONS — 'A  FIRST-RATER' — AN  EXTRAORDINARY  FREAK. 

FOR  the  satisfaction  of  my  reader  I  have  related  the  unhappy 
story  of  Lady  Bulwer  continuously,  though  during  the  progress 
of  the  events  described,  extending  over  several  months,  I  was 
occupied  with  a  diversity  of  engagements  that  almost  bewildered 
me.  In  spite  of  my  studious  resolves,  I  found  political  economy, 
or  reading  of  any  kind,  gradually  drifting  out  of  sight,  and  I  was 
carried  away  by  a  whirl  of  occupations,  both  pleasant  and  excit 
ing,  but  not  likely  to  contribute  much  to  my  ultimate  advantage. 
Amid  all  my  distractions,  however,  I  never  lost  sight  of  my  fealty 
to  Mr.  Price,  but  regularly  dropped  in  upon  Mdlle.  Elssler,to  see 
if  she  remained  firm  to  her  contract,  and  to  disabuse  her  mind  of 
the  thousand  and  one  fabrications  that  constantly  beset  her.  She 
seemed  to  grow  more  nervous,  and  I  feared  some  day  she  would 
bolt  out  of  her  engagement  and  offer  to  pay  the  forfeit. 

One  morning  I  received  a  note  from  her,  begging  to  see  me 
immediately  on  a  very  pressing  matter;  and,  dreading  some  hitch, 
I  repaired  promptly  to  her  residence.  I  found  her  alone  in  her 
boudoir,  with  a  troubled  aspect  bordering  on  agitation. 

'What  is  the  matter  now?'  I  asked,  smiling.  'Another  alarm 
ing  story,  I  suppose,  against  my  slandered  country.' 

'  More  important  than  that/  she  replied  gravely.  '  But  sit 
down.  I  want  to  ask  you  a  great  favour/ 

'  It  would  be  difficult  to  refuse  you  anything/  I  said  play 
fully. 

'  That  remains  to  be  seen/  she  replied,  with  a  searching  look. 
*  I  mean  to  put  you  to  the  test.' 

1  Well/  I  continued,  '  say  what  I  can  do  to  oblige  you.' 

'  Well/  she  repeated,  '  I  want  you  to  alter  my  contract* 

'  Why  ?'  I  demanded,,  much  surprised. 

'  Because/  she  asserted,  '  my  friends  tell  me  you  have  out 
witted  Lavalette,  and  bound  me  hand  and  foot  to  Mr.  Price.' 


Paris  Revisited.  537 


Upon  this  followed  an  argument  on  the  terms  of  the  con 
tract,  and  I  perceived  she  was  under  the  decided  impression  that 
Price  had  got  too  much  the  advantage.  I  could  not  talk  her  out 
of  it 

'  But  suppose/  I  surmised, '  that  Mr.  Price  refuses  to  modify 
it?' 

She  dropped  her  head  as  she  drawled  out,  *  I  have  never 
broken  an  engagement  in  my  life.' 

'  Which  implies,  I  fear,  that  you  think  of  beginning  now.' 

'  No,  I  will  make  no  such  threat  ;'  and,  fixing  her  eyes  upon 
me,  she  said,  in  a  confiding  tone,  '  I  put  my  trust  in  you.  Surely 
you  will  not  allow  me  to  be  sacrificed.' 

It  was  idle  to  discuss  it  further,  so  I  promised  to  write  to  Mr. 
Price  to  meet  her  objections. 

'  No,'  she  exclaimed,  seizing  my  hand,  as  a  tear  glistened 
in  her  eye,  '  that  will  not  calm  my  fears.  I  will  not  sleep  to 
night  if  you  do  not  pledge  me  it  shall  be  changed  as  I  wish.' 

To  terminate  the  scene,  I  bound  myself  that  Price  should 
make  the  alterations  she  exacted.  Her  delight  was  boundless, 
and  I  fancied  for  a  moment  she  meant  to  embrace  me,  but  I  was 
over-sanguine. 

Before  I  left  her  she  remarked  that  a  friend  of  hers  desired  to 
know  me.  Thinking  it  was  some  singer  or  dancer,  I  hesitated  an 
instant.  Observing  it,  she  said  it  was  an  English  lady  she  re 
ferred  to. 

'  An  artist,  I  suppose  ?' 

1  No,'  she  answered  ;  *  line  dame  du  monde.     It  is  Mrs.  Grote.' 

'  Mrs.  Grote  !'  I  echoed.  '  That  is  the  name  of  a  prominent 
member  of  Parliament.' 

'  Yes,  it  is  his  wife.  She  wishes  to  know  you,  having  heard 
me  speak  of  you  so  often.' 

'  With  great  pleasure,'  I  replied. 

'  Then  please  come  here  to-morrow  at  four  o'clock,  and  you 
will  meet  her.' 

Poor  Fanny  !  she  had  been  duped  by  some  busybody,  who 
had  led  her  to  believe  she  was  in  dire  peril  ;  whereas  the  changes 
she  implored  were  so  insignificant  that  I  knew  Mr.  Price  would 
not  oppose  them. 

Could  it  really  be  the  wife  of  the  famous  M.P.  ?  I  queried, 
as  I  wandered  home.  An  odd  associate  for  the  brilliant  danseuse* 
She  must  be  an  eccentric  woman  ;  but  that's  no  novelty  in  Eng- 


538  Paris  Revisited. 


land,  where  so  many  of  the  upper  classes  are  full  of  odd  fancies 
and  strange  ways. 

On  entering  Mdlle.  Elssler's  salon  the  next  day,  I  was  pre 
sented  to  a  stately  woman,  whose  air  and  manner  betokened  a 
superior  position.  Her  face  had  a  certain  masculine  expression, 
blended,  however,  with  a  benevolent  tone  that  indicated  a  kind 
disposition.  She  said : 

'  I  wished  to  know  you,  as  you  have  manifested  so  much  in 
terest  in  the  fortunes  of  my  amiable  protegee,  and  hope  we  shall 
be  good  friends.' 

I  reciprocated  her  civil  expressions,  and  a  pleasant  chat  en 
sued,  with  Fanny  sitting  by,  who  took  little  part  in  it.  It  turned 
out  that  we  had  many  mutual  friends,  which  warmed  up  our 
acquaintance.  After  a  time  I  took  my  leave  ;  but  Mrs.  Grote 
begged  I  would  call  on  her  in  a  day  or  two,  as  she  desired  a 
long  talk  on  Fanny's  proposed  trip  to  America,  which  I  pro 
mised. 

There  could  be  no  mistake  about  it.  The  lady  I  had  met 
was  really  the  wife  of  George  Grote,  a  conspicuous  member  of 
Parliament,  and  widely  known  in  the  literary  world.  Report 
said  he  was  writing  a  history  of  Greece  likely  to  surpass  all  that 
had  yet  appeared  on  the  subject.  He  was  also  a  member  of  a 
rich  banking  firm  in  the  City.  An  anecdote  was  current  that 
the  head  of  another  banking  house  had  exclaimed  one  day,'  Can 
it  be  true  that  George  Grote  has  taken  'to  writing  books  ?  What 
is  he  coming  to  ?'  It  was  plain  that  literature  was  at  a  low  ebb 
in  financial  estimation.  The  social  position  of  the  Grotes,  I  knew, 
was  a  solid  one,  and  their  West-end  house  was  frequented  by 
the  best  people  of  the  political,  literary,  and  fashionable  world- 
This  made  their  close  alliance  with  Fanny  Elssler  all  the  more 
puzzling,  for,  though  a  brilliant  artist,  she  was  not  likely  to  be  on 
visiting  terms  with  society  either  in  London  or  Paris. 

I  made  an  early  call  on  Mrs.  Grote,  who  received  me  with 
extreme  cordiality.  We  plunged  at  once  into  a  long  conversa 
tion  about  Fanny,  the  topic  nearest  her  heart.  She  began  by 
saying : 

*  You  must  be  surprised  to  find  a  person  in  my  position  so 
interested  in  the  affairs  of  an  opera-dancer.  Let  me  explain  that 
at  once.  She  brought  me  a  letter,  some  time  ago,  from  Madame 
Varnhagen  von  Ense  of  Berlin,  who,  you  possibly  know,  is  the 
wife  of  one  of  the  Ministers  of  Prussia,  and  one  of  the  first  ladies 


Paris  Revisited.  539 


of  Germany.  She  related  that  Fanny  had  been  presented  to  her 
by  her  illustrious  friend  Von  Gentz,  and  that  she  had  become 
greatly  attached  to  her.  She  begged  me  to  look  after  the  poor 
thing,  who  had  no  acquaintance  in  London,  and  to  show  her 
whatever  kindness  was  in  my  power.  Notwithstanding  my  love 
of  art,  I  hesitated  at  entering  into  relations  with  a  dancer,  how 
ever  renowned,  and  my  husband  stoutly  opposed  it.  But,  re 
luctant  to  ignore  the  earnest  request  of  Madame  von  Ense,  I  sent 
for  Fanny,  and  was  surprised  to  find  her  not  only  well  bred,  but 
one  of  the  most  simple-minded,  good-hearted  creatures  I  had 
ever  met.  Since  then  I  have  conceived  a  violent  affection  for 
her,  and  my  only  anxiety  is  to  promote  her  welfare  in  every  way 
I  can.  I  wish  to  aid  her  to  acquire  a  competency,  that  she  may 
quit  the  opera-house,  whose  associations  are  uncongenial  to  her. 
Now  this  American  engagement  will  tend  towards  that  object, 
and  I  encourage  it  for  that  reason.  I  know  you  made  Fanny's 
acquaintance  on  behalf  of  your  friend  Mr.  Price,  and  all  she  has 
told  me  of  your  disinterested  conduct  led  me  to  seek  your  in 
timacy  ;  and  I  desire  to  cooperate  in  the  work  you  so  kindly 
undertook.' 

I  candidly  confessed  to  Mrs.  Grote  that  her  intercourse  with 
Mdlle.  Elssler  had  perplexed  me  not  a  little  ;  but  I  could  well 
understand  her  attachment,  for  the  more  I  had  seen  of  her  the 
more  my  regard  had  increased.  I  added  also  that  it  was  credit 
able  to  her  good  heart  to  brave  the  prejudices  of  society  and  ex 
tend  a  helping  hand  to  this  deserving  creature,  who  had  neither  a 
relative  or  a  true  friend  to  protect  her  amid  the  thousand  snares 
that  beset  her  path. 

'  You  have  uttered  my  sentiments  exactly,'  responed  Mrs.  G. 
1  It  is  just  because  she  is  so  fascinating  and  so  innocent  that  I 
foresee  her  ruin,  unless  some  chivalrous  arm  averts  it.  If  I  can 
rescue  this  brand  from  the  burning,  I  reck  not  the  upraised  eyes 
of  my  circle.  My  attachment  for  Fanny  is  known  to  some 
of  my  friends,  who  smile  and  set  it  down  to  my  romantic 
nature.  I  have  already  a  reputation  for  eccentricity,  and  have 
kicked  over  the  traces  more  than  once.  Those  who  know  me 
are  prepared  for  occasional  escapades,  and  never  withhold  con 
donation.' 

Whilst  we  were  talking  Mr.  Grote  came  in,  and  I  was  intro 
duced  to  him.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  with  a  pleasant, 
genial  countenance,  but  with  the  usual  English  reserve  and 


54°  Paris  Revisited. 


stiffness.  I  soon  got  into  conversation  with  him  on  French  poli 
tics,  and  to  my  surprise  his  wife  joined  in,  displaying  a  thorough 
knowledge  of  the  men  and  events  of  the  day,  and  handling  both 
with  an  ease  and  a  perspicacity  quite  extraordinary  in  a  woman, 
On  going  away,  they  invited  me  to  dine  with  them  the  following 
day,  which  I  accepted  cheerfully. 

I  found,  on  talking  about  Mrs.  Grote  to  my  English  friends 
in  Paris,  that  all  knew  her  by  reputation.  Some  said  she  was 
the  best  political  writer  of  the  day,  and  contributed  powerful 
articles  to  the  Edinburgh  Review  and  the  Whig  journals.  Others 
declared  she  was  the  most  skilful  '  whip'  in  England,  and  most 
daring  horsewoman.  Others,  again,  dilated  on  her  proficiency 
in  painting  and  music.  All  had  something  to  relate  proving  her 
varied  accomplishments,  as  well  as  independence  of  character. 
No  one  denied  her  rare  mental  gifts  or  her  real  goodness  of 
nature.  Unquestionably  she  was  a  most  remarkable  person, 
and  I  anticipated  great  delight  in  her  society. 

I  had  kept  up  a  steady  correspondence  with  Mr.  Price  since 
his  departure  for  New  York.  He  continued  to  feel  anxious  as 
to  the  fulfilment  of  Mdlle.  Elssler's  engagement,  upon  which  his 
fortunes  depended.  I  informed  him  immediately  of  the  signing 
of  the  contract,  and  assured  him  of  my  belief  of  its  being  duly" 
carried  out.  The  opposition  to  Fanny's  departure  from  Paris 
seemed  to  increase  every  day,  inside  and  outside  the  opera- 
house.  The  public  were  indignant  at  the  loss  of  their  favourite,, 
whilst  the  director  of  the  Opera,  more  alive  than  ever  to  her  im 
mense  popularity,  began  to  exert  his  utmost  influence  to  induce 
her  to  abandon  her  project.  He  offered  at  last,  if  she  would 
throw  over  her  contract,  to  pay  all  the  damages,  and  to  aug 
ment  her  salary  besides.  The  most  ingenious  manoeuvres,  the 
most  unscrupulous  intrigues,  were  resorted  to,  but  in  vain.  The 
upright  Fanny  stood  her  ground  firmly,  resisting  blandishments 
and  defying  auguries  alike. 

In  my  letters  I  had  acquainted  Mr.  Price  of  all  the  artifices 
and  crafty  devices  employed  to  defeat  Fanny's  American  expe 
dition,  and  in  one  of  his  replies  from  New  York,  dated  towards 
the  end  of  December,  he  wrote  to  the  following  effect : 

My  dear  Wikoff, — I  have  received  your  letter  of  Nov.  30  by  the 
'  Great  Western,'  and  sincerely  thank  you  for  the  trouble  you  have  taken 
and  the  friendly  interest  you  manifest  in  my  affairs.  The  schemes  to 
which  you  allude  to  obstruct  Elssler's  departure  are  no  doubt  quite  new 


Paris  Revisited.      .  541 


to  you ;  but  I  have  seen  too  much  of  actors  and  dancers  not  to  under 
stand  their  manoeuvres,  and  to  be  able  to  explain  them  to  you.  Augusta 
[a  popular  danseuse],  of  course,  wants  to  prevent  Elssler  coming  to  New 
York.  And  why?  Augusta  has  been  a  great  favourite  here,  and  in 
tends  soon  to  return ;  but  if  Elssler  arrives,  then  Augusta  will  do  na 
good  by  coming,  as  she  will  be  of  little  importance  to  the  audiences 
which  have  once  admired  Elssler.  Now,  if  she  could  persuade  Elssler 
not  to  come,  and  so  keep  a  dangerous  rival  out  of  the  field,  the  harvest 
would  be  all  her  own.  Taglioni's  sister-in-law  will  play  the  same  game. 
She  and  her  husband  Paul  left  here  last  September,  giving  out  to  friends 
and  managers  their  intention  to  return  next  July.  Should  Elssler  come 
meanwhile,  their  attraction  would  be  ruined  ;  and  they  have  therefore 
the  same  motives  as  Augusta  in  striving  by  all  means  to  prevent  it.  So 
much  for  Augusta's  and  Taglioni's  little  games,  and  I  hope  Elssler  has- 
too  much  sagacity  to  be  entrapped  by  them. 

The  effect  of  the  various  bank  suspensions  has  produced  much 
general  distress  and  confusion  in  New  York.  The  depreciation  of  their 
paper,  with  the  adherence  to  specie  payments,  has  caused  money  to  be 
very  scarce.  The  theatres  have  felt  the  pressure  very  severely,  and,  as- 
might  have  been  expected,  Wallack  has  given  up,  after  compelling  his 
friend  and  moneyed  supporter,  Wash.  Coster,  to  sell  off  furniture,  plate,, 
horses,  and  everything  tangible,  and  to  make  an  assignment  of  his  real 
estate,  to  avoid  the  effect  of  executions  for  the  amount — said  to  be 
enormous — of  his  sureties  and  indorsements  for  Wallack.  The  boasted 
success  of  the  National  has  been  mere  deception.  Every  week  it  was 
open  the  loss  only  increased ;  and,  even  with  the  low  portion  of  the 
press  to  bolster  him  up,  he  is  at  this  moment  helpless.  His  immense 
debts,  here  and  in  England,  must  be  cleared  off  before  he  can  start 
again  ;  and  he  will  then  be  fortunate  if,  after  numerous  failures,  he  finds 
another  fool  to  trust  him. 

You  may  rely  upon  my  exertions  to  produce  the  ballets  of  Elssler  to 
the  very  best  effect ;  and  if  she  will  provide  the  music,  and  get  the  busi 
ness  well  described,  all  shall  be  well  got  up.  I  will  defray  all  the  ex 
penses.  Urge  her  to  be  here  as  much  before  the  ist  of  April  as  possible. 
We  shall  be  ready  for  her.  Money  affairs  are  slowly  getting  better,  and 
everything  reviving  fast.  There  is  now  no  opposition,  and  her  success 
must  be  triumphant  The  suggestion  of  securing  Petipas,  the  male 
dancer,  is  good,  and  I  have  set  my  agents  about  effecting  it  Don't 
allow  Elssler  to  neglect  sending  the  music-score  for  the  orchestra,  which 
I  will  pay  for ;  or  if  you  will  advance  the  sum  necessary,  Mrs.  Price  will 
repay  you,  or  I  will  pay  here  to  your  order.  I  don't  mean  this  to  go  be 
yond  three  or  four  ballets. 

Forrest  called  on  me  to-day,  and  I  delivered  your  message  to  him. 
And  now,  my  dear  Wikoff,  I  conclude  this  long  scrawl  by  repeating  to 


542  Paris  Revisited. 


you  that  the  execution  of  Elssler's  agreement  is  to  me  all-important.  I 
have  relied  upon  it ;  have  devoted  an  excellent  part  of  my  season  to  it; 
and  without  her  I  shall  be  unprovided.  Let  me  hope  you  will  not  relax 
in  your  kind  efforts  to  bring  it  about. — Wishing  you  a  very  happy  new 
year,  and  many  successive  ones,  I  am,  very  faithfully, 

S.  PRICE. 

I  could  not  help  being  amused  at  the  burst  of  spleen  against 
that  consummate  actor  and  truly  fascinating  man,  James  Wai- 
lack.    My  friend  Price,  as  intimated,  was  by  no  means  the  bland 
est  of  men  to  the  world  in  general  ;  but  his  jealousy  of  all  rivals 
in  business  was  bitter,  and  always  strongly  expressed.     Wallack 
had    erected   a  splendid   theatre    in   New  York,  the  National, 
which  bade  fair  to  impair  the  prosperity  of  the  old  Park,  in  which 
the  fortunes  of  the  veteran  Price  were  embarked.     It  was  not  in 
his  nature,  therefore,  to  restrain  the  vindictive  utterance  of  his 
satisfaction  when  the  pressure  of  the  times  compelled  the  Na 
tional   to   close  its  doors.     Besides,  he    may  have  feared   that 
Elssler  might  be  tempted  some  day  to  go  over  to  the  rival  estab 
lishment,  and  he  thought  it  politic  to  arouse    her  prejudices 
against  his  formidable  competitor. 

As  I  could  entertain  no  doubt  of  Mdlle.  Elssler's  fixed  inten 
tion  to  visit  the  United  States,  I  endeavoured  to  secure  for  her 
such  facilities  as  would  tend  to  make  it  agreeable  as  well  as  pro 
fitable.  I  presented  to  her  many  of  the  leading  American  gentle 
men  in  Paris,  who  promised  to  give  her  letters  of  introduction. 
All  were  charmed  with  her  pleasing  manners  and  refined  tone. 
I  thought  it  desirable  to  obtain  also  the  patronage  of  some  of 
our  ladies  of  fashion,  and  amongst  the  rest  applied  to  Mrs.  Welles 
for  a  line  of  indorsement 

I 1  am  willing,'  she  said, '  to  write  to  my  lady  friends  at  home 
to  go  and  applaud  the  most  brilliant  dancer  of  Europe,  but  how 
can  you  ask  me  for  letters  of  introduction  ?     I  don't  know  her  ; 
nor  could  I  properly  present  her  to  my  own  sex,  who  must  have 
heard  that  her  career  has  not  been  wholly  immaculate,  and  might 
resent  it  as  an  affront.' 

I  told  her  of  the  kind  interest  displayed  by  Mrs.  Grote,  who 
had  strongly  recommended  Mdlle.  Elssler  to  an  American  lady 
of  her  acquaintance.  Mrs.  W.  said  she  would  like  to  see  a  copy 
of  the  letter  I  referred  to,  and  I  sent  it  to  her.  The  day  after 
wards  she  returned  me  this  reply  : 


Paris  Revisited.  543 


Place  St.  George,  Tuesday. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff,— I  restore  to  you  the  copy  of  Mrs.  Grote's  letter 
with  many  thanks.  I  do  not  know  the  American  lady  to  whom  it  is  ad 
dressed,  but  I  know  this  much,  that  if  Mrs.  G.  possesses  common  sense 
she  will  not  undertake  to  make  reforms  among  opera- dancers.  Not 
that  I  do  not  believe  Fanny  Elssler  to  be  a  very  interesting  person, 
but  there  must  be  a  line  drawn  between  a  woman  sold  and  a  woman 
given. — Very  sincerely  yours, 

ADELINE  WELLES. 

It  struck  me  that  the  line  in  question  must  be  a  very  narrow 
one,  if  not  wholly  invisible,  since  the  offence  would  be  equal  in 
both  cases.  I  could  understand  the  difference  between  a  virtu 
ous  woman  and  one  who  was  not ;  but  whether  transgression 
would  be  more  venial  when  it  was  voluntary  and  disinterested 
than  in  the  opposite  case  was  quite  puzzling.  Such  casuis 
try  was  beyond  my  ken.  But  certain  it  is  that  Mrs.  Welles  was 
wholly  misled  by  malicious  rumours  if  she  supposed  that  Fanny 
Elssler,  the  most  unselfish  of  women,  could  have  been  tempted 
into  error  by  mercenary  motives. 

As  I  had  failed  to  enlist  the  patronage  of  Mrs.  Welles,  I  had 
recourse  to  her  worthy  husband,  and  solicited  his  cooperation  in 
any  way  agreeable  to  him.  He  replied  at  once  that  he  should  like 
to  be  presented  to  Mdlle.  Elssler,  and  named  a  day  for  the  pur 
pose.  We  made  the  visit,  and  he  was  so  much  charmed  with  the 
fair  ballerina  that  he  promised  his  most  cordial  support.  In  his 
usual  prompt  manner,  he  wrote  to  me  the  next  day : 

Place  St.  George,  Thursday  morning. 

My  dear  WikofF, — In  mentioning  our  visit  of  yesterday  to  Mrs. 
Welles,  and  howtres  comme  il  faut\  found  Mdlle.  Elssler,  Mrs.  W.  has 
expressed  the  desire  of  being  serviceable  to  Mdlle.  E.  in  her  intended 
voyage  to  America.  I  have,  therefore,  something  to  be  communicated 
to  Mdlle.  E.  upon  this  subject  If,  then,  you  can  send  her  word  that 
you  will  call  upon  her  in  going  from  here  after  seeing  me  at  half-past 
four  o'clock  to-day,  you  can  let  her  know  what  it  is  I  refer  to.  My 
servant,  who  brings  you  this,  can,  if  you  wish,  take  a  note  from  you  to 
Mdlle.  E.  in  returning  home. — Yours  truly, 

S.  WELLES. 

The  purport  of  this  communication  was  that  Mrs.  W.  would 
be  pleased  to  furnish  Mdlle.  Elssler  with  letters  to  some  of  her 
intimate  friends  in  New  York,  and  to  show  her  any  other  civility 


544  Paris  Revisited. 


in  her  power.  She  gave  a  proof  of  this  a  short  time  later.  Our 
Minister,  General  Cass,  tendered  Mdlle.  Elssler  a  letter  to  his 
old  friend  Col.  J.  Watson  Webb,  of  the  New  York  Courier  and 
Enquirer,  which  was  sure  to  be  useful.  Baron  James  Rothschild,, 
a  warm  patron  of  the  captivating  danseuse,  gave  her  letters  to  the 
agent  of  his  house  in  New  York,  Mr.  August  Belmont.  The 
nervous  Fanny  was  vastly  encouraged  in  her  Transatlantic  inten 
tions  by  these  various  acts  of  kindness. 

As  the  time  of  her  departure  approached  her  preparations 
grew  more  active.  She  made  extensive  purchases  of  costumes, 
and  ordered  prodigious  supplies  of  white-satin  slippers  for  her 
ballets,  of  which  she  consumed  two  pairs  a  night.  Her  farewell 
houses  at  the  Opera  were  crowded  and  enthusiastic,  though  the 
public  were  still  sceptical  of  her  bold  design  of  going  to  America. 
Towards  the  end  of  January,  M.  Laporte  came  to  Paris  to  engage 
her  for  a  few  nights  at  Her  Majesty's  Opera  in  London.  As  she 
felt  herself  incompetent  to  deal  with  so  crafty  a  man  of  business, 
she  referred  him  to  me,  as  her  confidential  friend ;  and  a  contract 
was  duly  drawn  up  for  her  appearance  thrice  a  week  in  London 
during  the  month  of  March  ;  terms,  2500  francs  each  perform 
ance,  to  be  paid  the  following  morning.  M.  Laporte  stickled  at 
such  prompt  payment,  but  yielded.  I  was  gradually  getting 
immersed  up  to  my  eyes  in  Fanny's  affairs,  and  began  to  long 
for  her  speedy  exit  from  Paris. 

Meanwhile  my  acquaintance  went  on  with  Mrs.  Grote,  and 
grew  more  intimate  every  day.  There  were  so  many  sides  to 
ner  character,  so  to  speak,  that  she  never  failed  to  interest,  amuse, 
and  instruct  me.  She  seemed  familiar  with  every  topic,  and  talked 
with  equal  ability  on  all.  The  subject  nearest  to  her  heart  was 
her  favourite  Fanny,  and  we  had  interminable  confabs  about 
her.  That  once  exhausted,  she  would  branch  off  on  such  a  mul 
titude  of  subjects  that  it  was  quite  bewildering  to  follow  her. 
She  manifested  the  liveliest  interest  in  my  manner  of  life  and  in 
the  affairs  of  my  friends,  all  of  which  I  related.  I  told  her  the 
story  of  Lady  Bulwer,  which  greatly  moved  her  sympathies.  I 
submitted  to  her  inspection  some  of  my  crude  lucubrations  on 
politics,  and  solicited  her  criticism.  I  had  frequent  notes  from 
her,  of  which  the  following  is  a  specimen  : 

Rue  de  Rivoli,  i3th  January. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  have  procured  a  box,  such  as  it  is  ;  but  it  seems 
there  is  a  prodigious  press  for  places  to-night  to  see  our  pet,  so  we 


Paris  Revisited.  545 


are  hoisted  up  into  the  second  tier,  which  I  can't  endure.  However, 
as  I  am  engaged  with  Madame  de  M.,  I  must  e'en  go ;  but  if  I  were 
not,  I  should  stay  away,  for  a  bad  place  is  a  great  bore  to  a  spoilt 
child  like  your  humble  servant,  who  is  used  to  the  best  of  most  things. 

I  return  your  *  Miscellanea,'  of  which  more  anon.  I  pity  your  fair 
friend  Lady  Bulwer  most  cordially ;  but  my  experience  is  entirely  in  this 
wise — whenever  a  connubial  discord  arises,  nobody  thinks  of  inquiring 
into  the  circumstances,  but  the  weakest  always  '  goes  to  the  wall.'  So 
ciety  is  disfigured  with  injustice  from  top  to  bottom;  and  if  it  were  not 
that  every  now  and  then  a  generous  soul  raises  his  valiant  arm  on 
behalf  of  our  oppressed  sex,  I  don't  know  where  we  might  not  arrive 
in  respect  of  persecution.  It  is  the  few,  and  not  the  many,  on  whom 
we  must  rely.  God  send  us  a  larger  proportion,  say  I. 

As  to  your  editor,  I  fear  he  is  of  the  'sow's  ear'  make.  You 
will  never  transform  him  into  anything  else  but  a  clever  acute  Yankee. 

As  for  your  own  effusions,  you  have  a  good  deal  more  pudding  to 
tat  before  you  will  be  fit  to  'foregather'  with  political  dissertations.* 
But  you  have  it  in  you^  and  with  time  and  self-culture  you  may  very 
well  look  to  be  *  something  above  the  common'  by  and  by.  At  all 
events,  you  are  not  all  '  leather  and  prunella.' 

I  will  not  have  you  dine  here,  because  I  think  you  ought  to  dine 
elsewhere,  since  you  pass  the  evening  out.  I  will  call  for  you  about 
eight  o'clock. — Believe  me,  with  truth,  your  well-wisher, 

HARRIET  GROTE. 

I  met  Mrs.  Wheaton,  the  wife  of  your  great  publicist,  at  a  soiree  on 
Friday. 

Shortly  after  this  I  received  a  summons  to  dine  with  her  one 
day  to  meet  a  '  first-rater,'  as  she  styled  him,  which,  of  course,  I 
accepted.  What  was  my  surprise  and  delight  to  encounter  the 
illustrious  statesman  M.  Guizot,  one  of  her  intimate  friends  ! 
We  were  only,  three  at  table,  as  Mr.  Grote  had  been  called  away 
to  London.  I  fully  appreciated  the  distinguished  honour  of  a 
familiar  presentation  to  so  prominent  a  man  as  M.  Guizot,  so 
renowned  in  literature,  and  the  frequent  occupant  of  the  highest 
Ministerial  posts.  This  was  enough  to  inspire  no  little  trepida 
tion  ;  but  there  was  a  coldness  and  puritanical  stiffness  in  his 
manner  that  for  a  time  quite  subdued  me.  It  was  not  haughti 
ness,  but  the  natural  tone  of  the  man,  and  led  to  his  being  de 
scribed  by  one  of  the  writers  of  the  day  as  the  'austere  intriguer.' 

*  Just  ten  years  afterwards — 1849 — Mrs.  Grote  reviewed  with  great  ability  in  th 
London  Spectator  three  political  essays  of  mine,  published  that  year  in  Paris. 

NN 


546  Paris  Revisited. 


His  face  indicated  a  stubborn  relentless  will  ;  but  in  all  else  it 
was  an  impenetrable  mask.  It  made  no  revelation  of  that  in 
satiable  activity  that  characterised  his  mind  and  marked  his 
career.  His  ambition  was  to  sway  the  destinies  of  France  ;  and 
his  struggle  for  the  mastery  against  his  rival  in  ability  and  in 
aim,  M.  Thiers,  kept  the  King  in  constant  anxiety  and  the  coun 
try  in  perpetual  agitation.  Mrs.  Grote  sustained  an  animated 
colloquy  with  him  on  the  state  of  affairs,  and  was  not  in  the 
least  discomfited  by  his  oracular  utterances  or  his  gravity  of 
mien.  She  forced  him  at  last  to  grow  more  confidential,  and 
extracted  the  admission  that  the  Ministry  was  in  danger,  and 
likely  to  be  soon  overthrown. 

'  And  then,'  she  said,  '  you  expect,  no  doubt,  to  step  into  the 
shoes  of  Marshal  Soult  ?' 

*  I  don't  know  how  that  may  be/  he  replied  cautiously. 
'  All  things  are  possible.  If  the  King  should  consider  me  ne 
cessary  to  his  policy,  I  should  be  proud  to  obey  his  summons.' 

'  Well,'  continued  Mrs.  Grote,  *  I  should  be  glad  to  see  you  at 
the  head  of  the  State  ;  for  I  consider  you  a  good  friend  to  Eng 
land,  as  well  as  a  safe  hand  at  the  helm  at  home.  A  little  too 
much  inclined  to  arbitrary  rule  perhaps,  which  we  Whigs  of 
England  regard  as  unwise,  if  not  perilous.' 

'  You  must  not  forget,'  remarked  M.  Guizot,  '  that  the  situa 
tion  of  the  countries  is  widely  different.  In  England  you  have 
a  stable  form  of  government,  and  a  resigned,  if  not  contented, 
population.  Your  politicians,  besides,  limit  their  aspirations 
merely  to  the  possession  of  ofBce.  Happily  you  have  no  revolu 
tionary  party,  ever  plotting  in  the  dark,  not  only  to  displace 
Ministers,  but  to  overthrow  the  Government  itself.  A  strong 
control  is  needed  to  quell  these  turbulent  spirits  and  maintain 
the  principle  of  authority.' 

'  I  admit  the  difference,'  continued  Mrs.  Grote  ;  '  but  I  cling 
to  the  conviction  that  inflexible  rigour  in  government  is  always 
hazardous ;  and  that  even  in  France  it  would  be  expedient  to 
temper  authority  with  concession,  which  might  avert  catastrophes 
that  stern  resistance  provokes.' 

In  this  wise  the  conversation  went  on  long  after  the  dinner 
was  over.  I  listened  with  deferential  interest  to  this  remarkable 
discussion  between  one  of  the  first  intellects  of  France  and  an 
English  lady  whose  political  acumen  filled  me  with  astonishment. 
I  sat  by,  scarcely  venturing  to  utter  a  word,  whilst  the  disputants 


Paris  Revisited.  547 


seemed  hardly  conscious  of  my  presence.  At  length  M.  Guizot 
rose  to  bid  good-night,  and  retired,  preserving  to  the  last  his 
solemn  rigid  manner.  He  had  barely  gone  when  Mrs.  Grote 
banished  from  her  mind  all  recollection  of  the  serious  topics 
she  had  been  debating,  and  threw  herself  with  headlong  eager 
ness  into  a  variety  of  fanciful  speculations  connected  with  her 
darling  Fanny's  voyage  to  America.  She  continued  discours 
ing  on  this  and  kindred  themes  till  near  midnight,  when  I  left 
her. 

I  could  not  reconcile  the  singular  incongruities  of  this  in 
teresting  woman's  mind  and  character.  How  a  person  of  her 
unusual  capacity  and  lofty  associations  could  find  recreation  of 
the  most  stimulating  kind  in  the  private  and  public  career  of  an 
opera-dancer,  however  irresistible,  was  to  me  quite  enigmatical. 
Perhaps  it  was  just  because  of  its  contrast  to  the  ordinary  chan 
nels  in  which  her  thoughts  ran  that  she  found  in  it  a  relief  to 
her  overstrained  intellect.  Besides,  she  was  of  a  tender  and 
romantic  disposition,  and  could  not  bear  that  her  protegee  should 
live  in  the  Stygian  atmosphere  of  the  coulisses,  so  little  in  har 
mony  with  her  meek  and  gentle  nature.  Mrs.  Grote's  fond  hope 
was  to  rescue  her  from  these  contaminating  influences,  and  waft 
her  into  purer  air  and  more  tranquil  pursuits.  She  would  gladly 
have  settled  a  sufficient  income  on  her  favourite  if  she  could 
have  induced  her  to  abandon  the  opera-house  ;  but  Fanny  was 
much  too  high-minded  to  accept  such  an  obligation.  Therefore 
Mrs.  Grote  considered  it  her  duty,  and  one  she  delighted  in,  to 
assist  the  indefatigable  artist  to  accomplish  an  independence, 
that  she  might  retire  into  well-earned  repose,  and  cultivate 
associations  more  in  unison  with  her  quiet  tastes. 

For  my  part,  as  I  walked  home  from  Mrs.  Grote's  dinner- 
table,  my  mind  was  far  more  engrossed  with  the  distinguished 
man  I  had  met  than  with  the  future  of  the  charming  Fanny. 
What  a  contrast  in  manner  and  appearance  he  presented  to  the 
man  he  really  was !  It  was  almost  difficult  to  believe  him  a 
Frenchman,  such  was  the  absence  of  that  vivacity  which  charac 
terises  his  nation.  To  be  sure,  he  was  brought  up  in  Switzer 
land,  where  his  mother  fled,  after  her  husband,  an  eminent  lawyer, 
had  been  guillotined  in  the  ghastly  days  of  1794.  He  was  a 
Protestant  too,  which  likely  had  a  sobering  effect  on  his  mind. 

As  the  London  season  was  approaching,  Mrs.  Grote  felt  it 
necessary  to  bring  her  visit  to  Paris  to  a  conclusion  ;  and  her 


548  .Paris  Revisited. 


reluctance  to  part  with  her  beloved  Fanny  was  less,  as  she  looked 
forward  to  meeting  her  soon  again  in  London.  Before  she  left 
she  announced  her  intention  to  'build  up'  a  soiree  in  honour 
of  her  idol,  as  she  desired  some  of  her  intimate  friends  to 
see  what  a  charming  person  the  celebrated  dancer  really  was. 
She  made  no  revelation  to  Fanny  or  to  me  as  to  the  persons 
she  had  invited,  but  merely  said  they  were  very  limited,  and  that 
all  were  desirous  to  meet  the  object  of  her  predilection. 

On  entering  her  salon  on  the  night  in  question,  I  was  hardly 
less  than  astounded  at  sight  of  the  extraordinary  group  Mrs. 
Grote  had  assembled  for  the  occasion.  I  recognised  the  Count 
•de  Tocqueville,  the  illustrious  author  of  Democracy  in  America, 
which  had  been  universally  pronounced  the  most  remarkable 
book  of  the  century,  and  had  raised  its  writer  to  an  immense 
•eminence.  Gustave  de  Beaumont,  just  elected  a  deputy,  and 
who  had  been  sent,  in  1832,  by  the  Government  to  the  United 
States  with  M.  de  Tocqueville,  to  examine  our  penitentiary 
system,  was  another  guest.  His  wife,  a  granddaughter  of 
Lafayette,  was  also  present.  Victor  Cousin,  who  had  founded 
the  new  school  of  philosophy,  and  was  considered  the  most 
gifted  of  contemporary  writers,  was  talking  with  Mrs.  Grote 
when  I  entered.  There  were  two  or  three  others  of  almost 
equal  celebrity.  Since  the  world  began,  I  do  not  believe  an 
opera-dancer  ever  found  her  way  into  such  a  circle  as  this. 
That  was  my  inward  conclusion  when  I  had  once  looked  round 
upon  the  gathering.  I  could  not  help  regarding  this  as  a  most 
extraordinary  freak  of  Mrs.  Grote  ;  but  as  she  had  notified  her 
friends  of  the  treat  in  store  for  them,  they  could  not  complain 
of  being  taken  by  surprise. 

In  chatting  with  M.  de  Tocqueville,  who  was  a  very  sedate 
but  soft-mannered  man,  he  remarked,  in  an  explanatory  way : 
'  I  have  come  with  my  wife  to-night  to  bid  good-bye  to  our 
esteemed  friend  Mrs.  Grote,  and  she  has  asked  permission 
to  present  to  us  her  latest  whim,  in  the  shape  of  Fanny 
Elssler,  the  popular  dancer.  It  seems  to  me  Horace  must 
have  had  in  his  eye  just  such  a  person  as  our  friend  when  he 
wrote  the  phrase,  Nil  fuit  unquam-  sic  impar  sibi,  for,  without 
knowing  it,  she  is  full  of  vagaries  and  strange  inconsistencies. 
But  she  is  a  good-hearted  creature,  to  say  nothing  of  her  extra 
ordinary  intellect  ;  and  it  would  have  grieved  her  sorely  if  we 
had  baulked  her  fancy  in  not  coming  here.  Besides,  my  wife 


Paris  Revisited.  549 


was  really  curious  to  see  this  celebrated  artist,  of  whom  Mrs. 
Grote  had  related  so  many  piquant  stories.'  Whilst  we  were 
still  talking  Mdlle.  Fanny  Elssler  was  announced,  and  every  one 
turned  round  to  contemplate  her.  She  was  simply  attired  in  a 
robe  of  black  velvet,  and  wore  very  little  ornament.  Her  easy 
graceful  manner,  as  she  crossed  the  room  to  greet  her  hostess, 
charmed  the  company.  If  she  had  passed  her  whole  life  amid 
philosophers  and  members  of  the  Institute,  she  could  not  have 
been  more  natural  and  unembarrassed,  yet  modest  withal.  Her 
engaging  simplicity,  repose,  and  elegance  gradually  won  upon 
the  sympathies  of  all,  who  found  it  difficult  to  reconcile  their 
preconceived  notions  of  the  brilliant  danseuse  with  the  quiet 
unpretending  person  before  them. 

The  conversation  went  on,  and  by  degrees,  to  Mrs.  Grote's 
great  delight,  one  after  another  of  the  distinguished  guests 
desired  to  make  Fanny's  acquaintance ;  and  all  found  her 
in  converse  quite  as  charming  as  she  looked.  Cousin  the 
philosopher,  a  sprightly  and  agreeable  man,  seemed  especially 
captivated,  and  kept  up  a  long  and  animated  parley  with 
her.  It  could  not  be  questioned  that  Fanny  had  made  a 
decided  hit  before  an  entirely  new  audience ;  and  she  could 
not  have  been  more  admired  if,  enveloped  in  the  fleecy  white 
drapery  of  La  Tarentule,  she  had  regaled  the  company  with 
some  of  those  splendid  evolutions  and  twinkling  petits  pas 
which  were  wont  to  throw  the  opera-house  into  spasms  of 
delight.  This  was  Fanny's  first  and  last  appearance  before  a 
conclave  representing  the  highest  regions  of  philosophy  and 
literature  ;  for  shortly  after,  Mrs.  Grote  returned  to  London,  and 
the  artist  went  back  to  her  familiar  haunts  and  usual  avoca 
tions,  quite  oblivious,  probably  unconscious,  that  she  had  be 
witched  a  philosopher,  or  figured  in  the  society  of  the  elite  of  the 
world  of  letters. 


CHAPTER  LVI. 

PARIS  REVISITED  (continued). 

SAD  NEWS — A  DINNER  IN  THE  PLACE  ST.  GEORGE — PIQUANT  LETTERS- 
OVERTHROW  OF  MARSHAL  SOULT. 

ABOUT  the  middle  of  February  I  received  a  letter  from  New 
York,  superscribed  with  the  name  of  E.  Simpson,  and  sealed 
with  black  wax.  I  knew  that  Mr.  Simpson  was  the  partner  of 
my  friend  Price,  and  had  long  been  associated  with  him  in  the 
management  of  the  Park  Theatre.  I  was  deeply  shocked  to 
gather  from  its  contents  that  poor  Price  was  dead  ;  and  the 
event  must  have  been  sudden,  for  in  his  last  letter  he  had  made 
no  mention  of  illness.  The  cold  dry  tone  of  the  missive  convey 
ing  such  sad  intelligence  was  not  a  little  repulsive.  The  writer 
had  been  for  years  the  friend  and  associate  of  Mr.  Price,  yet  he 
announced  his  decease  in  much  the  same  style  he  would 
speak  of  his  departure  from  town.  Not  an  expression  of  regret, 
not  a  trace  of  emotion.  It  ran  as  follows  : 

New  York,  January  24,  1840. 

Dear  Sir, — Mr.  Price,  during  his  last  illness,  received  your  favour 
enclosing  the  agreement  of  Mdlle.  F.  Elssler.  Mr.  Price  being  deceased, 
will  that  circumstance  alter  Mdlle.  Elssler's  determination,  or  does  she 
consider  herself  engaged  to  the  management,  or  to  Mr.  Price  alone  ?  If 
you  will  favour  me  with  a  speedy  answer  to  this  you  will  much  oblige 
me,  as  till  I  hear  satisfactorily  I  must  pause  in  my  other  engagements 
that  will  be  necessary  for  the  production  of  her  pieces,  such  as  ballet- 
master,  dancers,  &c.  Pray  excuse  the  trouble  I  am  giving  you,  but  the 
kindness  exhibited  in  all  your  letters  to  the  establishment  emboldens  me. 
— Yours  respectfully, 

E.  SIMPSON. 

Apart  from  my  sorrow  at  this  melancholy  occurrence,  I  was 
much  troubled  at  its  possible  effect  on  Mdlle.  Elssler's  plans. 
She  had  made  all  her  preparations  for  the  journey  to  America, 
and  to  renounce  it  would  not  only  expose  her  to  much  loss,  but 
to  many  stinging  sarcasms.  It  had  been  so  widely  discussed 


Paris  Revisited.  551 


that  to  forego  it  would  induce  many  to  believe,  especially  the 
authorities  of  the  Opera,  that  it  had  only  been  mooted  for  some 
ulterior  object,  and  had  never  been  seriously  entertained.  From 
the  tenor  of  Mr.  Simpson's  letter  it  might  be  inferred  he  was 
disposed  to  ratify  her  engagement  with  his  late  partner,  but  he 
did  not  distinctly  say  so.  At  all  events,  it  was  my  duty  to  com 
municate  the  painful  information,  and  I  did  so  at  once.  Fanny 
was  much  agitated  to  hear  of  Mr.  Price's  demise,  for  though  she 
had  seen  but  little  of  him,  he  had  inspired  heY  with  confidence. 
She  knew  nothing  of  the  new  manager,  and  was  utterly  at  a  loss 
what  course  to  pursue.  She  hesitated  at  relinquishing  the  jour 
ney,  that  had  been  so  long  the  town  talk,  yet  she  confessed  it 
would  delight  her  to  do  so.  In  the  end  she  appealed  to  me  for 
advice,  declaring  her  intention  to  abide  by  it. 

This  was  a  new  responsibility  I  had  not  anticipated,  and  it  threw 
me  into  great  perplexity.  I  had  been  induced  to  take  part  in 
this  theatrical  speculation  solely  to  oblige  my  poor  friend  Price, 
who  could  be  no  longer  benefited  by  it.  If  I  advised  her  to  renew 
with  Mr.  Simpson  the  engagement  entered  into  with  his  late 
partner,  I  made  myself  morally  answerable  for  the  consequences. 
This  opened  the  door  to  contingencies  that  forced  me  to  pause. 
I  decided  the  wisest  thing  was  to  discuss  the  matter  fully  with 
Fanny,  and  leave  her  to  adopt  what  course  she  thought  best, 
simply  binding  myself,  if  she  adhered  to  the  American  expedi 
tion,  to  aid  her  all  in  my  power.  A  long  talk  thereupon  en 
sued  ;  the  various  pros  and  cons  were  considered  ;  and  finally  she 
said  that  she  felt  herself  so  committed  to  the  enterprise  that,  be 
the  results  what  they  might,  she  would  rather  go  than  retreat. 
She  begged  me  then  to  draw  up  a  new  contract  with  Mr. 
Simpson,  introducing,  however,  some  fresh  clauses  that  she 
thought  were  reasonable.  For  instance,  she  preferred  receiving 
"a  fixed  sum  per  night,  say  400  dollars,  to  a  division  of  the 
receipts,  as  in  the  former  agreement ;  also  she  desired  the  time 
for  her  appearance  in  New  York  to  be  postponed  till  the  end 
of  April ;  and  further,  a  forfeit  binding  on  both  signatories  to  be 
inserted.  I  reminded  her  that  Simpson  might  demur  to  these 
modifications,  though  I  thought  them  quite  unobjectionable. 

'  If  he  refuses,'  she  said,  '  to  accept  these  propositions,  so  be 
it ;  then  I  will  abandon  the  project  altogether  ;  but  if  he  really 
wants  me,  he  will  raise  no  difficulty.' 

I  agreed  to  draw  up  the  contract  as  suggested,  but  told  her 


552  Paris  Revisited. 


she  could  not  expect  a  reply  till  the  middle  of  March,  when  she 
would  be  in  England. 

'  That  will  do,'  she  answered.  '  I  will  take  all  my  costumes 
for  America  with  me  ;  and  if  Mr.  Simpson's  reply  is  unfavourable, 
I  will  bring  them  back  to  Paris,  pocketing  the  loss.  Voila  tout' 

During  this  month  Mr.  Welles,  who  continued  to  manifest  the 
liveliest  interest  in  Fanny's  American  trip,  embarked  for  New 
York  on  business,  and  he  promised  her  to  prepare  his  friends  for 
the  delight  her  visit  would  afford  them.  A  few  days  later,  in 
making  one  of  my  usual  calls  on  his  engaging  wife,  she  expressed 
her  regret  at  never  having  met  Fanny  off  the  stage. 

'  My  husband,'  she  added,  '  talks  so  enthusiastically  of  her 
good  breeding,  her  pleasing  manners  and  amiability,  that  I  am 
really  longing  to  see  her.' 

'  Nothing  easier,'  I  said. 

'  Well,  how  can  I  manage  it  ?'  she  inquired. 

*  Ask  her  to  dinner,'  I  suggested. 

'  Good  Heavens  !'  she  exclaimed.  '  What  would  Paris  say— 
at  least  that  portio'n  of  it  which  knows  me?  There  would  be  a 
vehement  cackle  at  my  entertaining  a  danseuse,  even  though  she 
were  Fanny  Elssler.' 

1  Your  position  in  the  beau  mondel  I  replied,  '  is  too  firm  to  be 
affected  by  the  outcries  of  a  few  malcontents.  Besides,  you  are 
an  American,  and  independence  of  character  is  a  national  trait. 
You  may  not  be  disposed  to  call  on  Fanny  ;  but  as  you  desire  to 
know  her,  why  should  you  not  invite  her  to  your  house  ?  Mrs. 
Grote  did  not  hesitate,  as  I  have  related  to  you  ;  and  years  ago 
the  Prince  and  Princess  Metternich  often  asked  her  to  their 
palace  in  Vienna  to  gratify  their  friend  Von  Gentz.' 

After  pondering  a  few  moments,  Mrs.  Welles  tossed  up  her 
pretty  head,  and  said  defiantly, 

*  I  am  mistress  of  my  own  castle,  and  may  admit  whom  I 
please.     Ask  Fanny  to  dine  with  me  next  Monday.' 

'  With  great  pleasure,'  I  responded  ;  '  but  whom  will  you 
invite  to  meet  her  ?' 

*  Whom  do  you  suggest  ?'  she  asked. 

'  I  know  that  my  friend  Lady  Bulwer  would  be  pleased  to 
make  her  acquaintance  ;  and  two  of  your  friends,  Corbin  and 
Morgan  Gibbes,  who  know  her,  would  be  delighted  to  come.' 

'  Yes,'  she  added,  '  and  an  intimate  friend  of  mine,  the  Mar 
chioness  de  las  Marismas,  wife  of  the  wealthy  Spaniard  Aguado, 


Paris  Revisited.  553 


would  be  pleased,  I  am  sure,  to  meet  Fanny.     Let  me  know  if 
she  accepts,  and  I  will  send  off  the  invitations.' 

Fanny  gratefully  accepted  the  compliment  tendered  ;  and  I 
forwarded  the  invitation  to  Lady  Bulwer,  who  replied  as  follows : 

Rue  de  Rivoli,  February  25. 

How  can  I  ever  thank  you  sufficiently,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  for  all  your 
kind  consideration  for  me  on  all  occasions — not  bywords  certainly,  which 
never  yet  thanked  any  one  ?  I  look  forward  with  very  great  pleasure  to 
the  agreeable  party  on  Monday,  and  to  meeting  the  beautiful  Fanny,  to 
whom  I  feel  very  grateful  for  all  the  delight  she  has  so  often  afforded  me. 
Pray  thank  Mr.  Gibbes  de  ma  part ;  but  had  I  not  better  call  for  him, 
unless  he  has  a  carriage  ?  Let  me  know. 

I  fear  you  will  think  that  I  am  guilty  of  that  worst  of  crimes — spurring 
a  free  horse  to  death—  if  I  ask  you,  should  you  find  yourself  (but  not 
otherwise)  in  the  Rue  29th  Juillet  in  the  course  of  the  day,  to  have 
the  goodness  to  call  at  No.  n,  on  a  Mr.  Cook,  to  inquire  after  the 
character  of  a  German  servant  of  the  name  of  Samuel  Stridet.  M. 
Ledru  promised  to  do  so  three  days  ago,  but  I  suppose  he  has  too  much 
to  do  to  think  of  such  things  ;  and,  en  attendant,  I  am  in  the  greatest 
distress  for  a  manservant.  All  I  hope  is,  that  the  way  I  torment  you 
will  convince  you,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  of  the  sincerity  of  the  friendship  of 
your  grateful  and  obliged 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

The  dinner  in  the  Place  St.  George  went  off  in  the  pleasantest 
manner.  The  hostess  was  enchanted  with  her  chief  guest,  and  ' 
treated  her  with  the  kindest  consideration.  The.  rest  of  the  con 
vives,  who  had  not  met  her  before,  were  equally  charmed.  Fanny 
was  dressed,  as  usual,  with  great  simplicity,  wearing  but  little 
jewelry,  which  she  chiefly  reserved  for  the  stage.  Her  modest 
deportment,  graceful  manners,  and  intelligent  conversation  as 
tonished,  as  much  as  they  captivated,  all  present.  She,  in  turn, 
was  greatly  flattered  by  the  marked  attentions  of  the  company, 
and  conceived  a  violent  admiration  for  her  very  elegant  hostess. 
She  was  hardly  less  struck  by  the  beauty  and  brilliancy  of  Lady 
Bulwer. 

'  If  all  Americans,'  she  said  to  me  driving  home,  '  are  only 
half  as  amiable  and  high-bred  as  those  I  have  met  to-night,  I 
fear  it  will  cost  me  a  great  effort  to  leave  their  country.  They 
seem  so  sincere,  and  are  so  free  from  that  mawkish  gallantry 
which  assails  me  everywhere,  that  I  fancy  them  quite  a  new 


554 


Paris  Revisited. 


race  of  people.     How   little    they  are  ,  known   in   Europe,  and 
what  ridiculous  things  are  said  of  them  !' 

These  remarks  referred  to  Mrs.  Welles  and  her  American 
guests ;  and  certainly,  in  tone  and  bearing,  they  would  have 
done  honour  to  any  country.  I  have  already  spoken  of  Mr. 
Corbin,  but  in  all  respects  Mr.  Morgan  Gibbes  might  be  regarded 
as  his  worthy  compeer.  He  resided  in  Paris  with  his  wife,  who 
was  the  daughter  and  heiress  of  Mr.  Oliver  of  Baltimore.  In 
the  whole  circle  of  my  friends  there  were  none  who  excelled  Mr. 
Gibbes  in  suavity  of  disposition  and  a  bland  consideration  for  all 
whom  he  encountered.  I  greatly  delighted  in  his  society,  and 
had  presented  him,  in  turn,  to  Lady  Bulwer,  Mrs.  Grote,  the 
Countess  Guiccioli,  and  finally  to  Fanny,  all  of  whom  admired 
and  liked  him  equally. 

By  the  time  she  left  Paris  I  had  contracted  a  profound  regard 
for  Mrs.  Grote.  In  spite  of  her  towering  intellect,  that  was  wholly 
virile  in  breadth  and  force,  there  ran  through  her  nature  a  deep 
layer  of  sentiment  and  romance,  which  proved  that  the  softer 
traits  of  her  sex  had  not  become  ossified,  as  it  were,  with  the 
unusual  development  of  her  mind.  Though  she  was  considerably 
my  senior,  there  was  so  much  in  common  between  us  that  a 
sincere  and  lasting  friendship  was  sure  to  grow  up,  and  I  rejoiced 
at  the  prospect.  Our  acquaintance  had  a  strange  origin  truly, 
but  was  none  the  less  precious  for  that.  The  strongest  tie  that 
united  us  for  the  moment  was  the  keen  interest  we  jointly  took 
•iti  the  welfare  of  the  brilliant  artist  that  had  been  thrown  in  our 
way.  We  both  %  felt  she  deserved  a  better  fate,  and  both  were 
anxious  to  raise  and  consolidate  her  future.  We  were  equally 
conscious  that  we  were  wandering  out  of  our  respective  walks  of 
life  in  meddling  in  the  affairs  of  a  danseuse,  however  estimable 
and  lovable,  and  we  often  talked  over  this  irregularity  ;  yet 
neither  of  us  had  the  heart  to  turn  our  backs  and  leave  her  to 
the  fate  that  would  likely  befall  her.  This  was  the  state  of  things 
when  Mrs.  Grote  left  for  home,  and  I  promised  to  keep  her  con 
stantly  informed  of  the  doings  of  her  enfantgAtt,  and  also  pledged 
myself  to  pay  her  a  visit  during  the  coming  London  season.  I 
wrote  to  her  only  three  days  after  her  departure,  to  give  her  some 
description  of  Fanny's  farewell  benefit  at  the  Opera,  which  was 
quite  an  ovation.  She  replied  immediately  at  great  length  ;  but 
her  letter  is  so  characteristic,  and  I  think  interesting,  I  venture 
to  insert  it  entire  : 


Paris  Revisited.  555 


February  6,  1840. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  received  your  animated  epistle  duly  on  Mon 
day,  and  owe  you  cordial  thanks  for  the  vivid  picture  you  have  fur 
nished  us  withal.  Mr.  Grote  and  I  devoured  the  details,  and  were 
charmed  to  learn  how  glorious  a  triumph  *  our  Fanny' — as  you  affec 
tionately  term  her — achieved  on  the  3oth  January.  As  for  your  own 
delight,  I  envy  you  the  transports,  blending,  as  they  would  do,  the 
purest  sympathy  with  the  deepest  admiration.  I  am  sure  no  man  whose 
bosom  had  once  glowed  with  such  emotions  could  ever  sink  so  low  as  to 
partake  of  the  nature  of  the  man  a  la  mode  in  the  smallest  fraction,  and  I 
only  hope  that  you  were  not  a  solitary  example  of  benevolent  enthusiasm. 
'Sack  of  Sand'*  must  have  heaved  and  rolled,  surely,  under  the  exciting 
spectacle,  till  some  might  have  been  discerned  oozing  out  at  the 
seams.  Well,  it  would  have  been  too  much  for  us,  I  think,  so  I  am 
content  to  dwell  on  your  tableau  ;  assuring  you  that  it  was  in  a  high  de 
gree  eloquent,  and  glowingly  expressed,  and  did  your  talents  much  credit. 
Now  there's  a  pourboire  for  my  'reporter.'  You  know  I  don't  deal 
much  in  eulogy  usually,  reserving  my  praise  for  great  occasions,  such 
as  this.  I  have  been  but  poorly  ever  since  my  arrival  on  Saturday  last, 
as  I  always  am  after  a  sea-voyage.  I  wrote  to  Fanny,  however,  on 
Monday  to  announce  the  fact.  She  has  not  written  me  a  single  line 
since,  at  which,  I  confess,  I  am  somewhat  surprised,  if  not  chagrined. 
I  am  one  of  the  most  constant  of  mortals,  even  to  the  extent  of  loving 
on — having  once  taken  to  a  '  body' — even  after  change  in  them.  But 
my  lamp  will  not  burn  without  oil ;  and  much  and  fondly  as  I  love 
Fanny,  I  am  far  from  being  disposed  to  spend  my  heart  on  an  unre- 
quiting  object.  However,  this  is  all  confidential  between  you  and  me, 
and  perhaps  other  impressions  may  be  in  store  for  me. 

London  is  very  full ;  but  Seguinf  tells  me  such  is  the  distrust  of 
Laporte's  programme  that  opera-boxes  hang  on  hand,  in  spite  of  the 
early  season  expected.  However,  F.  E.  has  her  bargain  ratified,  I 
trust,  long  ere  this,  and  will  '  touch/  whether  L.  gains  or  not ;  but  her 
eclat  must  of  course  depend  on  the  quality  of  her  audiences.  Nous 
verrons.  I  have  sent  an  abridgment  of  your  rhapsody  to  the  papers, 
and  hope  it  will  serve  her  a  trifle.  Seguin  was  much  pleased  to  hear 
how  high  Fanny's  terms  were  to  be,  and  said  he  always  advised  her  to 
ask  as  much  for  this  season.  He  showed  me  also  a  long  letter  from 
Taglioni,  dated  7  th  January,  in  which  she  talks  of  coming  here  in  June 
as  uncertain,  though  this  rascally  Laporte  has  announced  her  for  May  ! 
She  will  come,  nevertheless,  if  only  to  keep  her  name  up  in  London, 
and  to  fill  her  pouches.  Seguin  gave  me  a  whole  dish  of  anecdotes  of 

*  This  appellation  Mrs.  G.  applied  to  a  mutual  acquaintance. 

t  A  theatrical  agent,  and  father  of  the  celebrated  basso. 


556  Paris  Revisited. 


the  opera-world,  which  sent  me  to  bed  with  a  sort  of  mental  indigestion 
and  heartburn.  Seguin  is  a  true  well-wisher  to  F.  E.,  and  spoke  of  her 
with  the  same  esteem  and  regard  he  ever  did  in  his  communications- 
with  me. 

I  understand  from  a  few  private  friends  that  my  intimacy  with 
Fanny  has  been  the  subject  of  the  greatest  astonishment,  and  the 
general  surmise  is  that  I  am  deceived  by  her.  No  one  has  dared  to 
allude  to  it  to  me ;  but  from  what  I  hear,  I  rather  expect  it  will  be 
tolerated  in  me  as  an  odd  caprice,  and  is  not  likely  at  all  to  injure  me 
in  my  relations  with  society.  I  shall  go  on  cautiously,  and  abstain 
from  talking  of  Fanny,  as  I  feel  persuaded  no  one  will  believe  her  to> 
be  what  we  know  her  to  be.  I  believe  Lady  Blessington's  jealousy  of 
D'Orsay's  admiration  of  F.  E.  to  have  been  the  fertile  source  of  many 
abominable  slanders  against  her.  All  my  information  ends  in  Lady  B.'s 
circle,  for  each  foul  tongue  seems  to  take  its  cue  thence.  Poor  dear 
Fanny  !  Well,  the  venom  shall  not  poison  the  stream  of  my  kind 
sympathy  towards  this  gifted  woman.  Long  will  /  fight  for  her,, 
through  evil  report  and  good  report,  so  she  be  but  worthy  of  my  quix 
otic  devotion,  and  capable  of  affection. 

I  hear  from  Seguin  that  Price  has  reduced  his  company  to  two- 
thirds  salary.  Don't  tell  this  to  F.,  however,  as  it  may  frighten  her. 

Resumed,  yth  February,  9  P.M. 

I  never  saw  H.  Bulwer  again,  though  he  actually  called  three  times 
upon  us,  I  suppose  to  try  to  get  into  my  good  graces,  in  hope  I  would 
take  part  with  him  in  this  odious  affair  of  the  spy.  The  letter  of  M. 
Ledru  must  have  a  most  prejudicial  effect  on  H.  B.'s  character,  I  think. 
I  never  can  help  lending  him  and  Sir  Edward  '  an  ugly  lift'  when  I 
hear  the  matter  alluded  to,  as  well  for  the  cause  of  fair  play  as 
because  of  my  sex.  Your  Minister  and  lady  have  already  called  ;  but  I 
was  too  languid  to  feel  equal  to  '  a  round'  with  that  vigorous  combatant,, 
and  so  I  denied  myself.  It  must  soon  come,  nevertheless,  and  I  shall 
write  you  if  worth  reporting.  I  have  received  a  shoal  of  invitations  to 
dinner,  &c.,  already,  but  implore,  in  the  words  of  the  Psalmist,  *  Oh, 
spare  me,  that  I  may  recover  my  breath.'  I  have  made  up  my  mind, 
though  reluctantly,  to  go  to  the  first  Drawing-room,  in  order  to  be 
eligible  for  the  Tuileries  balls,  if  ever  I  am  in  Paris  in  the  winter  again. 
So  if  you  come  over  in  March  we  shall  meet,  perhaps,  in  the  presence 
of  royalty.  *  Ups  and  downs,'  Herr  Wikoff !  But,  ah,  no  gorgeous 
entourage  of  Queen  Victoria's  proud  Court  will  ever  outvie  the  powerful 
trains  of  emotion  with  which  I  sat  a  guest  at  Fanny  Elssler's  table,  and 
received  the  gentle  devoirs  of  its  enchanting  hostess,  dight  with  the  rare 
gems  of  Nature,  and  beaming  with  conscious  charms  of  person  and 
mind.  And  the  salle  de  dame!  You  and  I,  I  trust,  shall  many  a  time 


Paris  Revisited.  557 


and  oft  recur  to  that  teeming  glance  we  exchanged  under  the  influence 
of  a  common  fascination.  I  felt  as  I  never  felt  before,  for  surely  never 
was  a  gentlewoman's  heart  beset  with  such  a  complex  tide  of  feelings 
and  ideas.  Boulevers'ee,  as  the  French  say,  as  to  habitual  prejudices,  and 
astonished  at  the  hidden  treasures  of  that  hitherto  unexplored  world ; 
the  odour  of  elegance  which  it  breathed,  the  impress  of  good  taste  and 
breeding,  the  undefinable  romance  which  kept  humming  in  my  mental 
ear, — all  this  I  saw  reflected  in  your  perceptions,  and  I  seemed  relieved 
of  my  fulness  in  sharing  it  with  a  fellow-mortal  of  my  own  mould.  Mr. 
G.  feels  all  this  sort  of  thing ;  but  then  he  covers  it  over  with  such  a 
thick  waterproof  veil  that  his  sympathy  is  next  to  useless  all  the  while. 
He  is  as  bad  as  Fanny  herself  for  reserve  and  external  masking  of  emo 
tion — which  is  saying  much.  Reste  a  savoir  whether  Fanny  can  feel 
half  as  powerfully. 

I  often  think  of  your  future,  and  with  much  interest.  I  trust  you 
will  steadily  pursue  the  true  aims  of  a  lofty  mind,  and  endeavour  to- 
keep  the  indulgence  of  stimulating  pleasures  at  its  proper  level  in  rela 
tion  to  the  main  web  of  your  life.  At  present,  the  occupations  of  a 
sentimental  and  tender  character  occupy  a  prodigious  space  in  the 
canvas,  and  it  were  cynical — in  the  English  meaning — to  blame  you, 
under  all  the  circumstai.  :es,  for  being  so  absorbed.  Accident  has  so 
enslaved  you  as  to  furnish  your  justification  as  a  chivalrous  young  man. 
Yet  you  must  *  heave  short'  presently,  Mr.  Wikoff,  or  you  will  lose  your 
turn  in  the  citizen  race.  But  you  know  the  programme  of  a  useful  and 
honourable  life  as  well  as  any  one.  I  wish  you  self-rule  enough  to 
*  play  up'  to  its  dictates  ;  and  if  you  continue  to  steer,  as  you  have  done, 
amid  the  rocks  and  shoals  of  the  heart  undebased,  I  shall  indeed  vote 
you  '  something  above  common.'  You  will  have  a  sad  job  to  ga 
through  in  parting  with  all  your  '  loves'  at  Paris,  eh  ?  Here  are  charm 
ing  girls  too,  and  I  wish  you  may  not  get  a  '  scorch,'  en  passant,  to 
finish  the  mess. 

I  think  I  have  seen  at  least  twelve  or  fifteen  women  since  my  arri 
val—yes,  at  least! — and  not  one  ventured  to  hint  anything  about  my 
doings  in  the  matter  of  Elssler.  I  am  sure  now  I  can  afford  the  risk.  But, 
to  be  sure,  I  am  excessively  caressed  by  my  acquaintance,  and,  being 
delicate  in  health,  am  the  more  tenderly  treated.  Methinks  no  harm 
will  befall  me.  Howbeit,  whether  or  no,  I  will  stick  by  Fanny  so  long 
as  she  will  love  me  and  be  discreet.  If  she  prove  insensible,  I  droop. 
Pride  and  temperament  alike  forbid  a  struggle  of  one  side  only. 

Report  says  Guizot  will  be  here  next  week  as  the  French  Ambas 
sador.  Again  a  curious  turn  of  the  wheel,  rfest-ce  pas?  You  remember 
that  quiet  evening  in  my  salon  at  Paris — he  and  you  and  I  dining  and 
chatting  so  cosily.  Now  in  London  'twill  be  *  his  Excellency,'  with  an 
antechamber  full  ! 


558  Paris  Revisited. 


Hope  you  have  seen  Madame  de  Tocqueville,  dear  good  soul ;  must 
get  them  both  over  with  us  this  summer.  I  am  going  down  to  Bucks, 
to  my  country  place,  next  week,  to  see  how  matters  are  getting  on 
there.  Expect  to  have  news  of  F.'s  plans  before  I  go,  however.  The 
agreement  with  Laporte,  you  know,  was  not  definitely  signed  when  I 
left,  and  the  tiresome  puss  has  never  given  herself  the  trouble  to  indite 
one  line  since.  Remember  me  to  Mr.  Corbin,  pray,  and  to  Mr.  Gibbes, 
with  sincere  regard.  Madame  L.  will  prove  to  be  a  half-bred  '  cock 
tail,'  as  we  say  of  the  equine  species  here.  You  owe  me  a  good  turn 
for  compromising  my  dignity  in  that  quarter — I,  who  am  proverbially 
•  high  horse'  too.  Well,  that  girl  has  made  me  do  many  a  thing  I  never 
dreamt  of,  and  this,  among  others,  must  be  *  booked'  to  her. 

Adieu,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff.  Here  is  a  huge  long  despatch,  probably 
the  last  you  will  have  ere  we  meet,  which,  I  trust,  is  not  very  distant. 
When  you  come,  make  my  house  your  home  till  you  suit  yourself  else 
where — no  easy  matter,  you  know,  in  our  *  season.'  Mr.  Grote  is  gone 
down  to  the  House  of  Commons,  or  would  send  his  kind  regards.  He 
made  a  speech  at  Guildhall  on  Wednesday — Corn-laws — and  was  most 
warmly  greeted  by  the  citizens.  He  is  now  forced  by  his  duties  to 
resume  active  life,  yet  often  talks  of  you,  of  Fanny,  &c.  Farewell  once 
more. — Sincerely  yours, 

HARRIET  GROTE. 

Was  there  ever  such  a  piquant  jumble  of  topics  more  elegantly 
conveyed,  or  at  times  more  quaintly  expressed  ?  Horace  Walpole 
never  mixed  a  more  palatable  dish  of  gossip.  The  dominant 
thought  throughout,  however,  was  Fanny.  Her  interest,  not  to 
say  infatuation,  for  her  darling  seemed  to  increase  with  absence. 

Sure  enough,  the  King  had  appointed  M.  Guizot  Ambassador 
to  England  ;  and  this  had  caused  no  little  surprise,  as  this  pro 
minent  statesman  was  still  in  the  Opposition.  What  could  it 
mean  ?  Surely  there  was  some  dark  intrigue  at  the  bottom.  If 
the  Cabinet  broke  up — which  daily  looked  more  probable — 
whilst  Guizot  was  absent,  Thiers  would  succeed  to  the  Premier 
ship.  Was  the  King  anxious  to  get  one  of  the  jealous  rivals  out 
-of  the  way,  that  he  might  have  less  trouble  with  the  other  ? 
It  remained  to  be  seen. 

Scarcely  a  week  elapsed  before  I  had  another  letter  from 
Mrs.  Grote,  who  was  keenly  piqued  at  not  hearing  from  Fanny, 
who  was  so  absorbed  in  her  preparations  for  departure,  to  say 
naught  of  her  work  at  the  Opera,  that  she  was  fagged  to  death, 
and  really  not  to  blame  for  neglecting  her  correspondence.  Mrs. 
Grote  wrote  in  this  strain  : 


Paris  Revisited,  559 


London,  February  iz. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — Having  an  opportunity  of  sending  a  note  by  a 
private  hand,  I  just  pen  a  line,  though  you  probably  have  but  lately 
finished  reading  my  last  volume.  I  hope  you  saw  my  '  puff'  in  the 
Morning  Chronicle  of  Feb.  8th,  the  leading  Ministerial  paper  ;  only  I  mis 
stated  the  name  of  the  artist  who  sang  with  Duprez,  through  my  pre 
ferring  the  authority  of  the  Gazette  Musicale  to  yours  /  The  object  of 
my  sending  you  this  line  is  to  entreat  you  to  inform  me,  if  you  can,  why 
I  continue  sans  le moindre mot  (without  the  least  word)  from  our  fair  pet? 
Here  is  now  the  i2th.  I  wrote  to  her  on  the  3d.  'Tis  three  weeks  ago 
now  since  I  embraced  her  at  parting,  with  the  pleasing  persuasion  that 
she  bore  me  an  affectionate  regard— gratitude  I  put  aside,  not  desiring 
that  sentiment  to  bear  any  share  between  two  persons  of  lofty  feelings. 
Well,  if  she  can  quietly  remain  three  weeks  without  a  single  manifesta 
tion  of  her  affection,  all  I  can  say  is  that  I  have  been  misspending  my 
money — I  don't  mean  specie^  you  know,  but  far  more  precious  stuff. 
Here  am  I  suffering  again  from  dire  neuralgia.  I  have  had  a  very 
painful  attack,  and  F.'s  neglect  is  hard  to  bear  added  to  physical 
trials. 

I  have  ordered  apartments  for  her  here  for  6th  of  March,  because 
there  is  a  great  scarcity  near  us,  and  the  people  would  not  warrant  them 
being  disponible  in  another  week,  or  even  another  day.  And  these  lodg 
ings,  I  fancy,  would  not  h.ue  been  let  to  any  theatrical  person,  only 
that  I  pledged  myself  for  the  respectability,  &c.,  as  round  hereabout  the 
folks  are  rather  particular,  and  I  shall  have  to  lend  her  plate  and  linen  as 
it  is.  However,  all  I  said  I  would  do  shall  be  done,  but  I  own  I  am 
seriously  hurt  at  F.'s  indifference.  Lest  I  say  more  than  this,  I  now 
conclude,  entreating  you  again  to  explain  why  it  has  been  she  neglects 
to  write.  Mr.  G.  is  as  sore  as  I  am,  and  prophesies  daily  that  I  shall 
live  to  repent  getting  so  fond  of  a  person  who  is  either  too  spoilt  or  too 
callous  to  respond. 

I  see  in  the  Morning  Post  an  article  on  Paris  theatricals  to-day,  but 
don't  recognise  your  style.  Faucher*  writes  me  that  Fanny's  benefit 
realised  15,000  francs.— Yours  ever  truly, 

H.  GROTE. 

I  hastened  to  tell  Fanny  of  Mrs.  Grote's  annoyance  at  receiv 
ing  no  reply  to  her  letter,  and  urged  her  not  to  neglect  on  any 
account  so  good  and  valuable  a  friend. 

*  I  am  very  sorry/  said  the  penitent,  *  if  I  have  offended  her  ; 
but  if  she  only  knew  how  overwhelmed  I  am  by  a  thousand  dis- 

*  Mrs.  Grote  refers  to  Leon  Faucher,  the  celebrated  deputy,  afterwards  Minister 
of  State.  No  doubt  this  statistical  item  was  appended  to  a  letter  on  politics,  as  the 
writer  knew  of  Mrs.  G.'s  ardent  interest  in  all  pertaining  to  Fanny's  affairs. 


560  Paris  Revisited. 

tracting  cares,  she  would  forgive  me  readily.  But  I  will  write  at 
once  and  crave  indulgence.  I  really  thought  that  by  this  time 
she  must  have  half  forgotten  me,  in  the  great  world  she  lives  in. 
I  am  flattered  and  touched  by  her  affectionate  regard.  How  can 
I  ever  repay  it  ?' 

*  That  is  not  likely/  I  replied  ;  '  but  write  immediately,  and 
let  her  see  you  appreciate  it.' 

Down  came  the  Soult  Cabinet  with  a  crash  on  the  2Oth  of  this 
month,  which  was  the  handiwork  of  those  twin  contrivers  of  mis 
chief,  Thiers  and  Guizot.  As  I  have  shown,  they  overturned  the 
Cabinet  of  Count  Mole  in  March  1839  \  but  the  King  outwitted 
them,  in  forming  a  Government  under  Marshal  Soult  in  the  May 
following,  leaving  them  both  out.  Of  course  they  went  jointly  to 
work  at  once  to  undermine  the  Marshal,  and  now  they  were  masters 
of  the  situation.  The  King,  with  all  his  cunning,  had  played 
blindly  into  the  hands  of  the  two  men  who  sought  to  control  him. 
He  foolishly  insisted  on  his  Prime  Minister  introducing  a  Bill 
into  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  granting  an  allowance  of  500,000 
francs  a  year  to  his  second  son,  the  Duke  de  Nemours.  The 
Duke,  however,  was  an  unpopular  man  ;  and  next,  the  country 
knew  the  King  was  very  rich,  and  could  afford  to  give  his  son 
what  revenue  he  chose.  Thiers  and  Guizot  saw  their  chance,  and 
seized  it.  They  brought  their  influence  to  bear  on  the  Chamber, 
and  worked  the  press  -under  their  sway.  The  Bill  was  therefore 
rejected  ;  and  Marshal  Soult,  according  to  constitutional  usage, 
resigned.  What  would  the  King  do  now  ?  He  had  just  dis 
posed  of  Guizot  by  sending  him  as  Ambassador  to  London ;  and 
it  was  suspected  the  astute  politician  would  not  have  accepted 
the  post  if  he  had  not  seen  some  ulterior  advantage  in  it.  Mean 
while  the  King  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  adroit  Thiers,  who  would 
clutch  the  prize  he  lost  in  1839.  He  was  the  inevitable  Prime 
Minister ;  but  how  long  he  would  hold  it  was  another  thing. 
Thiers  was  one  of  the  most  dexterous  of  men  and  politicians  ; 
but  the  King  and  Guizot  were  equally  so.  They  were  sure  to 
combine,  if  they  had  not  done  so  already,  as  I  suspected,  when 
'  the  little  man  in  specs'  would  be  unhorsed.  Guizot  would 
never  have  quitted  Paris,  leaving  his  rival  master  of  the  field, 
without  hatching  some  plot  to  insure  his  own  triumph  later. 
It  was  amusing  to  watch  the  tactics  of  these  crafty  politicians, 
though  it  was  a  pity  the  nation,  with  its  precious  interests 
was  made  the  shuttlecock  between  them. 


CHAPTER  LVIL 

PARIS  REVISITED  (contintied). 

MRS.  GROTE'S  VATICINATIONS — SELF-COMMUNING — A  STROKE  OE  DESTINY — 
A  LUDICROUS  SITUATION — LADY  BULWER. 

I  HAD  duly  informed  Mrs.  Grote  of  the  sudden  death  of  my 
friend  Price,  and  of  the  letter  of  his  colleague,  Mr.  Simpson.  I 
told  her  also  that  I  had  sent  out  a  new  agreement  for  his  accept 
ance,  with  certain  modifications.  Apparently  I  had  omitted  to 
state  that  these  originated  with  Fanny,  as  her  reply,  which  I  give 
below,  chides  me  for  not  having  adhered  to  the  first  engagement : 

February  44,  1 1  P.M. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  received  your  prodigious  budget  on  the  22d. 
It  was  a  very  nice  sensible  letter,  and,  I  warrant  you,  set  me  a  ponder 
ing  for  an  hour  or  two  afterwards.  I  like  your  sketch  of  the  dinner-day 
at  Mrs.  Welles's.  It  is  drawn  with  a  free  outline  that  quite  brought  the 
scene  before  me.  Your  news  of  the  Simpson  move  first  delighted  me  ; 
but  I  was  damped  by  your  response.  Why,  in  the  name  of  Fate,  did  you 
not  reply, '  So  be  it'  ?  Why  and  wherefore  recommence  negotiations  ii 
he  was  ready  to  slip  into  Price's  shoes  sans  more  ado  ?  Now  you  will 
hang  up  the  bargain  till  the  '  Great  Western'  returns,  and  subject  Fanny 
to  all  its  inconveniences — delaying  the  departure  of  her  costumes,  &c., 
which,  if  she  were  sure,  ought  to  go  forthwith  from  Havre.  Again,  I 
hink  8o/.  a  night  less  advantageous  to  F.  than  the  half  profits.  How 
ever,  this  job  is  done,  I  conclude,  and  she  must  abide  the  '  Great  West 
ern's'  return  to  know  the  result.  If  Simpson  decline  the  proposal  01  8o/. 
a  night,  she  will  either  give  up  the  trip,  or  go  out  under  the  mortification 
of  having  no  secure  engagement;  which  would  have  been  so  easily 
warded  off  by  your  holding  fast  to  Price's,  that  I  feel  quite  vexed  at  your 
letting  the  fish  get  off  the  hook. 

The  proud  hussy  has  thought  fit  to  write  to  me  in  answer  to  my 
letter  to  her  on  the  subject  of  New  York.  I  received  her  letter  only 
to-day,  though  it  was  posted  on  Friday,  but  no  letters  are  delivered  in 
London  on  Sundays.  This  letter  of  hers  is,  beyond  compare,  the  most 
fraught  with  marks  of  feeling  that  any  of  hers  have  ever  been.  I  can 
scarcely  preserve  myself  from  giving  way  to  a  conviction  that  my  affec 
tion  and  good  offices  towards  her  have  awakened  in  her  bosom  a  cor 
responding  sentiment,  not  untinged  with  gratitude,  for  there  are  grate- 

00 


562  Pans  Revisited. 


ml  expressions  in  it  such  as  she  has  never  yet  employed.  After  pe 
rusal  of  your  very  sagacious  remarks  and  musings  upon  the  curious 
mixture  of  her  character,  both  Mr.  G.  and  myself  seemed  settling 
down  into  much  the  same  frame  of  mind  concerning  this  gifted  but 
veiled  creature.  We  had  been  gradually  adjusting  our  anticipations,  in 
fact,  so  as  to  guard  us  against  sore  disappointment  in  relation  to  herr 
inferring  from  her  neglect  of  me  since  my  return  a  chilling  indifference 
to  the  preservation  of  the  intimacy.  I  do  not  marvel  at  your  saying 
she  is  a  beau  masque.  At  this  instant  I  recall  scenes  wherein  I  much 
doubt  if  I  were  not  deluded  by  her  admirable  jeu.  I  do  not,  how 
ever,  blame  it  so  much  in  a  woman  whose  pride  has  had  no  other 
mode  of  defence  through  a  ten  years'  experience  of  a  degrading  pro 
fession,  except  dissembling  craft.  I  lament  it,  whilst  I  recognise  this 
excuse.  Heaven  knows  whether  she  be  callous  or  no  !  You  and  I  can 
not  tell.  Your  observations  about  letters  being  insecure  evidence  of 
a  lack  ot  friendship  are  very  just,  and  strictly  conformable  to  my  own 
experience.  I  will  therefore  *  suspend  judgment'  on  poor  Fanny  till 
farther  data  shall  have  been  furnished  me.  She  writes  most  simply 
and  tenderly  in  this  letter,  and  really  indicates  confidence  in  my  friend 
ship,  so  that  I  am  lulled  into  oblivion  of  her  shortcomings  for  one 
while.  '  Ebb  and  flow'  have  been  my  fare  ever  since  I  knew  this 
strange  and  fascinating  girl ;  and  such,  peradventure,  will  ever  attend 
a  connection  so  romantic  and  out  of  precedent. 

What  fun  this  resignation  of  the  Soult  Cabinet  must  be  to  our  friend 
Faucher,  and  to  many  other  of  our  acquaintances  too  !  I  fear  M.  Guizot 
will  not  come  over  now — perhaps  he  may  be  Prime  Minister  instead. 
The  town  here  is  uncommonly  full,  and  Queen  Victoria  ravenous  for  gay 
doings  after  her  marriage.  I  have  been  but  little  out,  being  feeble,  and 
also  busy  with  domestic  affairs ;  but  there  is  no  end  to  invitations  for 
those  who  choose  to  accept  them.  The  frost  is  intense,  and  the  wind 
Siberian. 

Your  Minister,  Mr.  Stevenson,  and  I  have  not  met  yet ;  but  I  shall 
treat  our  little  '  brush'  gently.  I  don't  mean  to  quarrel  with  anybody  be 
cause  they  think  me  a  dupe  in  the  matter  of  Elssler.  I  must  make  up 
my  mind  to  that.  I  am  so  sleepy  I  can't  scribble  any  more,  so  you 
must  accept  this  brief  letter  as  merely  an  acknowledgment  of  your 
interesting  epistle.  I  wish  you  would  obtain  for  me  a  copy  of  Guizot's 
notice  on  Washington.  It  is  not  sold,  but  some  copies  are  to  be  had 
by  favour,  printed  off  separately  from  the  work  to  which  it  is  the  in 
troduction.  Madame  de  M.  never  returned  me  mine,  presented  by 
the  author.  You  could  get  another  for  me  from  him,  or  from  M.  Fau 
cher  perhaps.— Yours  very  sincerely, 

H.  GROTE. 


Paris  Revisited.  563 


Fanny  was  to  leave  for  London  on  the  4th  of  March.  Her 
last  days  in  Paris  were  absorbed  in  a  round  of  visits  and  dinners 
from  her  wide  circle  of  attached  friends.  She  had  retired  from 
the  Opera  on  a  congt  of  six  months,  and  her  fanatical  admirers 
declared  they  should  go  into  mourning  till  her  return.  On  the 
day  she  left  I  called  to  bid  her  adieu.  Her  travelling  carriage 
was  already  at  the  door.  I  found  her  quite  despondent,  and 
attempted  to  rally  her. 

*  Why  so  dejected,'  I  remarked,  *  on  the  eve  of  a  splendid 
campaign,  where  fame  and  fortune  await  you  ?     I  expected  to 
find  you  full  of  buoyancy,  radiant  with  hope  and  joy.' 

She  looked  up  with  a  sad  expression,  and  said, 

*  The  nearer  I  approach  this  terrible  journey,  the  more  my 
spirits  droop.     I  feel  as  if  I  were  drifting  towards  a  precipice, 
and  at  times  I  am  disposed  to  turn  round  and  fly  with  my  utmost 
speed.     Can  you  wonder  ?     I  am  leaving  all  that  is  dear  to  me 
to  go  to  a  land  of  strangers,  whose  very  language  is  unknown  to 
me.     The  distance,  too,  is  appalling  ;  and  all  predict  failure  and 
mortification.     If  I  had  only  a  friend  to  cheer, Hi.  guide  to  advise 
and  sustain  me,  I  would  defy  augury.     If  you  were  at  my  side  I 
would  dismiss  every  fear,  and  boldly  take  the  plunge.' 

She  gazed  wistfully  in  my  face  as  she  uttered  these  words. 

*  What  nonsense,'  I  replied,  '  to  prate  of  failure  !     Your  skill, 
grace,  and  beauty  would  vanquish  a  people  far  less  susceptible 
and  discerning  than  my  fellow-countrymen.     The  voyage  is  but 
ten  or  eleven  days,  when  you  will  be  surrounded  by  troops  of 
friends  quite  as  competent  and  devoted  as  myself/ 

She  shook  her  head  sceptically. 

'  If  I  could  accompany  you,  ma  chtre  Fanny,  I  would  gladly 
do  so ;  but  circumstances  forbid.  Besides,  my  position  would 
be  a  false  one,  liable  to  misconstruction.  By  some  I  should  be 
regarded  as  your  agent ;  by  others  as  your  lover ;  by  more  as  a 
mere  speculator  in  the  venture.  You  could  not  expect  me  to 
make  such  a  sacrifice.  Who  would  believe  me  a  disinterested 
friend,  only  solicitous  for  your  welfare  ?  Above  all,  the  publicity 
that  would  befall  me  as  your  companion  would  be  fearful ;  and 
what  would  my  relatives  and  friends  say  to  such  a  freak  ?' 

'I  see  that  it  is  impossible,'  she  observed  disconsolately. 
f  How  could  I  dream  of  your  taking  such  risks  for  me  ?  Forgive 
my  selfishness.' 

At  this  moment  her  faithful  cousin  Katy  entered  the  room  to 


564  Paris  Revisited. 


announce  that  all  was  ready  ;  and  the  cracking  of  the  postillions' 
whips  without  displayed  their  eagerness  to  be  en  route.  Seizing 
me  almost  passionately  by  the  hand,  she  demanded, 

*  Will  you  promise  to  come  to  London  to  see  me  off?  It  will 
encourage,  it  will  brace  me/ 

'  If  I  can  managelt  I  will/  I  answered. 

'  If  you  fail/  she  said,  in  quite  an  earnest  tone, '  I  don't  believe 
I  shall  ever  go/ 

I  saw  her  depart  at  full  gallop  for  Boulogne.  I  returned 
home  in  a  musing  mood.  Seating  myself  in  my  library,  of  late 
much  neglected,  I  began  pondering  over  my  acquaintance  with 
this  *  bright  particular  star.'  Scarce  nine  months  had  passed,  and 
our  intimacy  had  become  as  cordial  as  if  years  had  elapsed. 
The  departure  of  her  confidant  Lavalette,  who  committed  her  to 
my  hands,  was  one  cause  of  this,  and  the  advent  of  Mrs.  Grote 
on  the  scene  was  another.  My  sorrow  at  parting  with  Fanny  was 
a  proof  of  the  interest  she  had  inspired.  It  was  not  her  fascina 
tion  as  artist,  nor  yet  her  charms  of  person,  that  had  impressed 
me  ;  but  it  was  difficult  wholly  to  resist  her  angelic  disposition, 
upright  character,  and  magnetic  manners.  Constant  association 
with  such  a  woman  was  perilous  in  the  extreme  ;  and  I  could 
not  but  rejoice  that  our  familiar  relations  were  broken  off,  doubt 
less  for  ever.  I  felt  that  I  deserved  the  approbation  of  my  con 
science  for  not  abjuring  my  steady  decorous  life  for  one  invested 
with  so  much  novelty  and  seduction.  There  was  nothing  that 
prevented  me  leaping  into  the  giddy  vortex  of  a  theatrical  career, 
that  I  secretly  loved,  save  resolution.  I  began  to  plume  myself 
on  my  strength  of  will,  and  was  disposed  to  regard  Fate  as  only 
another  name  for  weakness  and  infirmity  of  purpose. 

That  night  I  went  to  a  fancy  ball,  given  by  Colonel  Thorn,  and 
rigged  myself  up  as  Lord  Leicester,  the  favourite  of  Queen  Bess, 
fancying  myself  more  or  less  irresistible.  I  considered  this  the 
most  splendid/^te  in  private  life  I  had  ever  witnessed.  The  mag 
nificent  mansion  was  all  thrown  open,  and  illuminated  a  giorno. 
The  guests,  consisting  of  several  hundreds,  comprised  the  flower 
of  French  and  foreign  society.  Some  of  the  princes  of  the  royal 
family  were  present.  The  American  colony  in  Paris  was  well 
represented.  General  Cass  and  daughters  were  there,  together  with 
the  Corbins,  the  Gibbes's,  the  Thorndikes,  the  Bates's  of  Boston, 
and  the  Burds  of  Philadelphia.  A  concert  by  amateurs  was  first 
given,  in  which  Mrs.  Jauncey  Thorn,  daughter-in-law  of  the  host, 


Paris  Revisited.  565 


and  the  Prince  Belgioso  carried  off  the  honours.  Dancing  then 
succeeded  ;  and  the  gorgeous  ballroom  was  crowded  to  its  fullest 
capacity.  I  wandered  enraptured  through  the  numerous  glitter 
ing  salons,  gazing  at  the  immense  variety  of  rare  and  costly  cos 
tumes  of  the  titled  throng.  The  French,  both  men  and  women, 
are  never  seen  to  greater  advantage  than  in  a  fairy-scene  like 
this.  Their  easy  sprightly  manners  and  graceful  assumption  of 
disguise  made  one  almost  believe  that  a  crowd  of  gay  knights 
and  lovely  chatelaines  of  the  Middle  Ages  had  suddenly  taken 
possession  of  Colonel  Thorn's  palatial  abode.  As  I  was  saunter 
ing  about  in  dreamy  delight  at  the  splendour  of  the  spectacle,  I 
espied  more  than  once  my  friend  Mr.  Bates,  who  was  got  up  as 
a  Puritan,  standing  sedately  in  a  corner  that  he  never  seemed  to 
quit,  and  which  I  thought  might  arise  from  his  knowing  but  few 
of  the  company.  His  face  had  a  twitching  unhappy  expression, 
that  induced  me  to  approach  and  invite  him  to  take  a  stroll. 

1  There's  nothing  I  should  like  better/  he  said,  *  but  I  can't 
move.' 

'  What,  suffering  from  cramp  ?'  I  replied  sympathetically. 

'  Worse  than  that,'  he  returned.  *  These  devilish  fancy  boots 
I  have  on  pinch  me  so  dreadfully  I  can't  walk  a  step.  They 
only  came  home  at  the  last  moment,  and  little  did  I  anticipate 
what  was  in  store  for  me.' 

I  did  my  best  to  restrain  my  merriment,  for  his  situation 
struck  me  as  very  comical. 

'  Courage,  my  friend,'  I  continued  ;  '  think  of  what  your  ances 
tors  must  have  endured  without  boots,  in  the  winter  of  1620.' 

'  Don't  banter  me,  for  Heaven's  sake  !'  he  groaned  ;  '  I  am  suf 
fering  agony.  I  want  to  go  home,  but  my  wife  won't  listen  to 
it.  If  I  could  only  sit  down — but  there's  not  a  chair  to  be  had.' 

I  thought  the  case  demanded  prompt  succour,  so  I  volun 
teered  to  go  in  quest  of  his  wife,  and  bring  her  to  reason. 

'  You  will  lay  me  under  eternal  obligation/  he  said  im 
ploringly,  f  if  you  will  get  me  out  of  this  pillory.' 

At  last  I  found  her — a  superb  woman  she  was,  and  a  daugh 
ter  of  Harrison  Gray  Otis. 

'  Your  husband/  I  declared,  '  is  suffering  martyrdom.  Pray 
allow  him  to  retire.  I'll  escort  you  home  whenever  you  wish.' 

'  That  will  answer/  she  said,  smiling.  *  Tell  the  poor  man 
to  go/ 

'All  is  arranged/  I   assured  him,  on  my  return.      'Come 


566  Paris  Revisited. 


along  ;'  and,  taking  my  arm,  he  limped  and  moaned  till  he 
reached  the  door.  He  was  no  sooner  in  his  carriage  than  he  had 
his  Puritan  boots  off  in  a  trice,  when  a  smile  of  inexpressible 
relief  overspread  his  features. 

1  Now/  he  cried,  as  he  gaily  drove  off,  ' "  Richard's  himself 
again." ' 

I  made  desperate  efforts  to  pull  myself  together,  and  to  settle 
down  to  my  studious  habits  of  old.  My  mind  wandered  wildly, 
and  I  often  found  myself  engrossed  with  recollections  at  dire 
variance  with  the  abstract  topics  I  sought  to  master.  I  kept  my 
eye,  meanwhile,  on  politics.  M.  Thiers  became  Prime  Minister 
on  the  1st  of  March,  and  immediately  got  into  collision  with 
Lord  Palmerston,  the  British  Minister  of  Foreign  Affairs,  who 
was  determined  to  prevent  Mehemet  Ali,  the  Viceroy  of  Egypt, 
from  overturning  the  Turkish  Empire.  This  extraordinary  man 
began  life  as  a  shopkeeper,  and  was  wholly  uneducated,  only 
learning  to  read  when  he  was  forty-five.  Yet  by  his  genius  he 
made  himself  master  of  Egypt.  Always  eager  for  war,  he 
quarrelled  with  the  Sultan  and  invaded  Turkey.  The  victory  of 
Nezib  put  Constantinople  at  his  mercy.  The  British  Govern 
ment  determined  to  uphold  Turkey,  and  made  war  on  Mehemet 
Ali.  This  was  the  situation  when  Thiers  became  Minister,  and 
he  decided  to  support  the  rebellious  Viceroy,  and  for  no  other 
reason,  I  could  see,  but  to  have  a  tussle  with  Lord  Palmerston. 
This  would  precipitate  a  war  with  England  if  Louis  Philippe  did 
not  interfere  by  dismissing  his  bellicose  Minister. 

Barely  a  week  had  elapsed  after  Fanny  had  taken  wing, 
when  a  letter  reached  me  from  Philadelphia,  announcing  the 
sudden  death  of  my  guardian,  Mr.  S.  P.  Wetherill,  and  desiring 
my  immediate  return  to  take  possession  of  my  property,  which 
had  always  remained  in  his  hands.  This  melancholy  event 
shocked  me  deeply,  but  I  was  actually  dumbfounded  it  should 
have  occurred  at  this  precise  juncture.  I  foresaw  at  a  glance 
that  if  I  left  at  once  for  America  I  could  not  possibly  escape 
being  more  or  less  mixed  up  with  Fanny's  theatrical  campaign. 
She  would  naturally  appeal  to  me  for  assistance,  and  on  what 
pretext  could  I  refuse,  after  having  so  largely  contributed  to  her 
going  there  at  all  ?  I  thought,  when  she  left  Paris,  my  intervention 
in  her  affairs  was  at  an  end  ;  but  now,  by  a  stroke  of  destiny 
wholly  unforeseen,  I  was  likely  to  be  plunged  into  them  deeper 
than  ever.  Thus  it  seemed  that  all  my  prudence,  self-control, 


Paris  Revisited.  567 


and  laudable  intentions  were  shivered  to  fragments  by  the  iron 
mallet  of  Fate,  and  no  option  left  but  to  submit  to  events  utterly 
beyond  my  command.  It  occurred  to  me,  that  perhaps  I  might 
venture  to  postpone  my  departure  for  a  couple  of  months  ;  but 
before  deciding,  deemed  it  judicious  to  consult  my  estimable 
friend  Mr.  Dunlop  as  to  the  expediency  of  such  delay. 
This  was  his  reply : 

London,  March  15,  1840. 

My  dear  Sir, — I  hope  you  will  excuse  my  long  silence.  What  with* 
more  to  do  than  I  am  able  to  overtake,  and  very  uncertain  health,  I  have 
postponed  writing  to  many  friends  till  I  am  quite  ashamed  of  myself. 
The  ladies  of  my  family  [his  wife  and  niece,  Miss  Gamble]  have  read  your 
recent  letter  with  great  pleasure,  and  have  been  hoping  for  a  visit  for  some 
time.  But  as  you  seem  as  reluctant  to  forsake  Paris  as  all  those  who- 
are  once  established  there,  I  consider  it  my  duty  to  reply  at  once  to  that 
part  of  your  letter  which  refers  to  your  property  in  the  United  States. 
Money  matters  are  by  no  means  in  a  settled  position,  either  in  the 
States  or  in  England,  and  I  advise  you  to  lose  no  time  in  return 
ing  to  Philadelphia  to  look  after  your  patrimony  there.  Expecting  to 
see  you  soon,  I  shall  only  add  my  own  and  my  family's  best  and  kindest 
wishes  for  your  health  and  happiness. — I  am  yours  very  sincerely, 

JAMES  DUNLOP. 

H.  Wikoff,  Esq. 

This  advice  had  great  weight  ;  but  all  hesitation  vanished 
with  another  letter  from  Philadelphia  assigning  special  reasons 
for  my  prompt  arrival.  By  this  time  my  mind  had  calmed 
down,  and  I  yielded  pliantly  to  the  inevitable.  Without  more 
ado,  I  secured  a  berth  in  the  '  Great  Western'  steamer,  to  leave 
Bristol  on  April  I5th.  I  wondered  whether  Fanny  would  go  in 
this  vessel  or  her  rival,  the  '  British  Queen/  from  London.  Per 
haps  she  might  not  go  at  all. 

Before  I  had  written  to  Mrs.  Grote  of  the  new  turn  of  events 
I  had  this  letter  from  her  : 

London,  March  20. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  confess  my  iniquity  in  withholding  all  epistolary 
favours  from  you  ever  since  your  kind  letters — the  first  containing  the 
description  of  your  state  of  mind  in  regard  to  F.,  and  the  second  con 
veyed  by  her  hand.  I  write  now  under  the  fear  that  I  shall  not  get  the 
letter  finished.  It  is  not  want  of  time ;  it  is. not  occupation  ;  it  is  not 
Fanny;  but  a  continued  languor  and  bodily  incapacity,  which  renders 
me  all  but  a  dead  letter  of  late.  Even  my  interest  for  her  yields  before 
it,  and  I  can  take  no  pleasure  in  anything  that  demands  exertion.  You 
will,  I  am  sure,  pity  me  sincerely,  for  my  fate  is  worse  than  that  of  Tan- 


568  Paris  Revisited. 


talus.  I  have  and  hold  all  that  can  impart  flavour  to  life,  but  cannot 
drink.  I  sleep  away  my  existence,  as  it  were.  You  may  judge  how 
lively  my  sense  of  obligation  towards  you  is  by  my  struggling  to  write  a 
line  to  you  now.  But,  in  truth,  your  two  last  letters  deserve  my  best 
acknowledgments.  You  cannot  think  how  entirely  your  outline  of  what 
your  impressions  are  respecting  F.  concur  with  ours. 

She  arrived  on  the  6th  of  March  duly,  and  I  received  her  in  my 
house  for  a  few  hours  to  restore  her,  whilst  Katy  was  occupied  in  un 
packing  and  settling  the  traps  at  their  lodgings.  After  dinner  she  went 
to  her  own  home,  which  she  is  delighted  with ;  and,  indeed,  she  has 
been  in  one  uninterrupted  course  of  contentment  from  that  hour.  She 
came  out  the  next  night  at  the  Opera,  and  was  enthusiastically  welcomed. 
The  Gipsy  has  drawn  well,  and  she  is  most  frantically  applauded,  espe 
cially  in  La  Cracovienne.  I  think  I  never  saw  her  look  worse — worn 
and  haggard.  She  has  been  worked  like  a  post-horse  to  '  mount'  her 
new  ballet,  the  Tarentule,  daily,  and  even  twice  a  day,  returning  after 
dinner  to  stage  slavery  !  I  have  seen  little  of  her ;  and  not  one  hour 
yet  for  conversation.  I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you  about  her,  but 
must  absolutely  refuse  myself  this  pleasure  faute  deforces.  Your  defini 
tion  of  *  un  beau  masque'  so  far  fits  perfectly.  Whether  you  or  I  shall 
ever  dive  deeper  into  that  heart  of  hers  remains  to  be  seen. 

Get  something  said  of  Mdlle.  Nau*  in  some  of  the  foreign  papers, 
that  I  may  copy  and  insert  it  here  to  serve  her.  This  is  Fanny's  request. 
I  wrote  a  sheet  full  to  Nau  lately  of  information  for  her  guidance  that  I 
derived  from  the  *  big-wigs'  of  the  musical  world.  She  is  as  yet  un 
known  here,  and  a  puff  or  two  will  be  invaluable.  Chorleyf  has  lent 
her  a  lift  in  his  Athenceum,  which  will  tell  for  something.  I  have  sent 
an  article  to  Spectator  on  Fanny,  which  you  must  look  for.  Perhaps  I 
can  send  you  a  Spec,  by  Monday's  post.  F.  comes  out  in  the  Tarentule 
this  evening.  I  have  taken  a  capital  box,  and  carry  with  me  three  true 
men  as  claqueurs— -to  wit,  Sir  W.  Moles  worth,  M.P.,  Lord  B.,  and  a 
countryman  of  yours,  Charles  Sumner — besides  Grote,  who  dines  first 
with  the  Speaker  of  the  House,  and  joins  us  afterwards. 

Excuse  my  wretched  instalment !  I  really  am  dead  with  lassitude. 
I  have  had  a  tempest  of  remonstrances  about  my  attachment  to  Fanny; 
but  as  long  as  she  runs  steady  they  will  never  alienate  me  from  her,  poor 
dear  soul.  I  shall  be  at  the  Queen's  Drawing-room  on  the  Qth  of  April. 
Won't  you  come  over  to  escort  me  ?  You  must  be  here  for  the  levee  on 
the  ist,  you  know,  to  go  to  the  Drawing-room  on  the  gth. — I  remain 

your  sincere  friend, 

H.  G. 

*  A  prima  donna  of  the  French  Opera,   of  American  origin,    and   an   intimate 
friend  of  Mdlle.  Elssler.     She  was  engaged  for  the  London  Opera  in  June, 
t  A  celebrated  musical  critic. 


Paris  Revisited.  569 


It  was  diverting  to  hear  Mrs.  Grote  croaking  over  her  lassi 
tude  ;  but  the  moment  a  new  ballet  was  to  be  produced,  she 
was  up  and  off  forthwith.  The  truth  is,  she  had  an  inordinate 
love  of  artists  and  their  doings  ;  and  this  was  a  weakness  I  fully 
shared  with  her.  I  wrote  to  her  in  a  day  or  two  to  inform  her 
of  the  decease  of  my  guardian,  and  the  consequent  necessity  of 
my  going  to  the  United  States  straightway.  I  asked  her  to 
convey  this  news  to  Fanny,  and  to  assure  her  I  should  be  happy 
if  I  could  find  time  to  assist  in  launching  her  bark  prosperously 
in  American  waters.  I  began  bidding  good-bye  all  round  with 
promptitude,  and  really  found  it  '  a  sad  job,'  as  Mrs.  G.  expressed 
it,  '  in  parting  with  all  my  loves.'  I  paid  a  long  farewell  visit  to 
my  cherished  friend  the  Countess  Guiccioli,  whom  I  have  not 
mentioned  of  late,  but  whose  society  I  courted  always.  I  con 
tinued  in  the  service,  so  to  speak,  of  Lady  Bulwer  to  the  last,  as 
this  her  valedictory  epistle  testifies  : 

March  30,  1840. 

Many  thanks,  my  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  for  all  the  trouble  you  have  had 
with  regard  to  that  suborned  coward  Galignani.*  I  can  only  say  of  him, 
as  of  many  of  his  sex — not,  like  the  Royal  Psalmist,  '  in  my  haste,'  but 
after  mature  deliberation  —  *  Verily,  all  men  are  liars.'  If  it  is  not 
troubling  you  too  much,  I  should  be  greatly  obliged  if  you  could  get  my 
letter  back  from  the  tool.  The  English  papers,  thank  Heaven,  are  not 
all  bought  up.  You  said  something  yesterday  about  calling  on  me  at 
one  o'clock  to-day.  If  it  is  not  very  inconvenient,  I  wish  you  would  have 
the  goodness  to  do  so,  as  I  have  ordered  the  carriage  at  one  o'clock,  and 
we  could  go  together  to  decide  upon  the  apartment  I  spoke  of.  But 
should  you,  in  the  agonies  of  departure,  fail  to  see  me  again,  accept  my 
best  wishes  for  your  pleasant  journey  and  most  speedy  return.  And,  in 
the  hope  that  you  will  not  forget  your  kind  promise  of  writing  to  me, 
both  from  London  and  America,  believe  me,  dear  Mr.  Wikoff,  ever  your 
grateful,  though  obliged, 

ROSINA  LYTTON  BULWER. 

The  indignant  outbreak  against  Galignani  proved  that  her 
spirit  was  still  chafing  and  wrestling  with  her  situation.  Hers 
was  a  nature  that  could  only  be  subdued  by  forbearance  and 
conciliation.  Defiance  she  looked  upon  as  an  appeal  to  arms. 
I  never  could  make  her  understand  that  people  generally  shrank 
from  interference  between  man  and  wife,  and  that  it  was  un 
reasonable  to  denounce  those  who  feared  to  take  sides.  Such 

*  Editor  of  the  English  journal  in  Paris. 


57°  Paris  Revisited. 


temperate  logic  was  thrown  away  on  her  torrid  mind.  I  was 
filled  with  sorrow  as  I  bade  her  adieu,  and  entreated  her  to 
'  hang  her  harp  upon  the  willows,'  and  to  sing,  or  think  no  more 
of  her  troubles,  in  the  hope  of  happier  days. 

It  was  a  strange  contrast  to  leave  the  side  of  this  sensitive 
and  impassioned  creature,  and  to  sit  down  with  a  woman  of 
the  world  like  Mrs.  Welles,  whose  calm  and  airy  elegance 
captivated  the  fancy  even  if  it  failed  to  touch  the  heart.  She 
told  me,  in  the  course  of  my  parting  visit,  that  she  had  letters 
recently  from  her  husband  at  New  York,  who  said  they  were 
much  excited  there  by  the  news  of  Fanny  Elssler's  early  ad 
vent,  and  that  she  might  count  on  a  glorious  reception,  which 
would  gladden  her  soul  and  fill  her  pocket. 

I  had  not  time  to  call  on  the  illustrious  De  Tocqueville,  but 
wrote  to  say  I  should  be  happy  to  execute  any  commission  he 
was  disposed  to  intrust  to  me.  I  give  his  reply,  as  the  simplest 
lines  from  such  a  man  are  not  without  interest  : 

Paris,  Saturday. 

A  thousand  pardons,  dear  sir,  that  I  have  been  unable  hitherto  to 
answer  the  note  you  so  kindly  addressed  to  me.  The  long  sittings  of 
the  Chamber,  and  the  preoccupations  to  which  they  give  rise,  have  pre 
vented  my  carrying  out  my  wishes.  Pray  accept  my  regrets.  Will  you 
be  good  enough  to  give  in  my  name,  and  in  that  of  my  wife,  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Grote,  a  profusion  of  affectionate  remembrances  ?  Tell  them  we 
should  be  happy  if  we  thought  to  see  them  soon.  I  trust  they  preserve 
in  their  memories  as  large  a  space  as  we  reserve  for  them  in  ours.  I 
cannot  accept  the  obliging  offer  you  make  me  with  reference  to  the  United 
States.  My  intention  is  to  send  some  copies  of  my  new  work  to  friends 
in  that  country  whose  good  opinion  is  precious  to  me ;  but  as  it  has 
not  yet  appeared,  all  1  can  send  you  now  are  my  best  wishes  for  a  safe 
journey,  which,  believe  me,  are  most  sincere. — Receive  the  assurances 
of  my  high  consideration, 

ALEXIS  DE  TOCQUEVILLE. 

M.  H.  Wikoff. 

I  left  my  apartment  in  the  care  of  my  two  servants,  assur 
ing  them  of  my  return  within  three  months,  as  I  considered  that 
period  amply  sufficient  to  accomplish  the  sole  object  of  my 
visit.  I  quitted  Paris  on  April  1st,  and  it  did  not  occur  to  me  at 
the  time  that  it  was  All-Fools'  day,  else  I  might  have  hesitated. 


CHAPTER  THE  LAST. 

LONDON  REVISITED. 

DINNER  AT  MRS.  GROTE*S — CHARLES  SUMNER — A  « SOIREE*  AT  LORD  BROUGHAM'S 
— SIMPSON'S  AMBASSADOR — A  '  GRANDE  DAME* — PRINCE  LOUIS  NAPOLEON — A 
THUNDER-CLAP — THE  DEPARTURE. 

I  REACHED  London  on  the  3d,  and  was  fortunate  in  finding 
rooms  at  Fenton's  Hotel,  for  the  West-end  was  already  over 
flowing.  The  recent  marriage  of  the  young  Queen  had  brought 
all  the  world  to  town,  and  the  animated  crowd  seen  everywhere 
was  as  great  as  in  June,  the  culminating  period  of  the  fashionable 
year. 

I  had  just  ten  days  to  run  about  and  exchange  greetings  with 
my  numerous  friends,  and  it  was  likely  I  should  have  my  hands 
full.  I  felt  in  duty  bound  to  call  first  on  Mrs.  Grote.  I  found 
her  living  in  a  fine  mansion  near  Belgrave-square,  and  looking 
uncommonly  well,  in  spite  of  her  doleful  talk  about  her  nerves. 

1  Delighted  to  see  you  again/  she  said  heartily ;  '  but  how 
wonderful  this  new  turn  of  the  wheel !  The  sudden  demise  of 
your  guardian  carries  you  abruptly  off  to  America,  the  last  thing 
you  dreamt  of  a  month  ago.  What  a  godsend  for  Fanny!  Only  for 
dread  of  ridicule  she  would  have  abandoned  her  trip  before  this 
but  now  that  she  will  have  your  support  she  is  eager  to  under 
take  it.' 

'  Yes,  in  truth/  I  answered,  'it  is  a  strange  freak  of  Fortune. 
I  was  just  rejoicing  that  my  connection  with  Fanny's  affairs  had 
come  to  an  end  ;  and  though  I  feared  her  going  to  America  un 
protected  would  involve  her  in  trouble,  I  determined  positively 
to  interfere  no  further.  By  a  singular  fatality  all  is  changed,  and 
the  prospect  makes  me  very  nervous.' 

1  I  don't  see  why  it  should/  answered  Mrs.  Grote,  in  a  friendly 
tone.  '  You  can  give  her  advice,  or  save  her  from  ill-treatment, 
without  mixing  yourself  up  with  her  openly.  Surely  no  one  could 
blame  you  for  that,  even  if  anything  was  known  of  it,  which  is  not 
likely.' 

*  In  London/  I  replied, '  it  might  all  be  done  with  impunity; 
but  our  American  towns  are  comparatively  small,  and  many  of 
the  newspapers  fond  of  gossip.  Depend  on  it,  anybody  connected 


57 2  London  Revisited. 


with  a  star  of  Fanny's  magnitude  will  be  discovered  and  freely 
discussed.  The  worst  of  it  is,  my  position  will  be  so  equivocal. 
If  I  were  her  agent  or  manager,  that  would  excite  no  curiosity  ; 
but  a  gentleman  friend  will  not  be  understood,  and  I  should  be 
set  down  as  her  husband  or  lover.  What  would  the  world  say 
to  that  ?  what  would  my  friends  say  ?' 

1  They  would  probably  say,'  returned  Mrs.  G.,  laughing  at  my 
scruples,  '  that  you  were  a  very  lucky  fellow.  But  seriously  you 
exaggerate  the  risk.  You  are  a  single  man,  and  a  little  scandal 
can't  hurt  you  much.  All  I  care  about  is  Fanny's  success.  It 
would  be  dreadful  if  she  crossed  the  ocean  only  to  meet  a  rebuff. 
Everybody  here  says  she  is  mad  to  run  away  from  Europe,  where 
every  capital  longs  for  her,  in  the  hope  of  captivating  a  people 
ignorant  of  her  art,  and  possibly  inaccessible  to  her  fascination, 
I  often  tremble  I  advised  her  to  go.' 

'  That's  the  nonsense,'  I  replied,  '  they  talked  in  Paris,  and  I 
daresay  they  think  the  same  here.  It  annoys  me  so,  that  some 
times  I  feel  like  sacrificing  my  own  interests,  and  devoting  my 
self  to  Fanny's  American  campaign.  Her  triumphs  there,  I  am 
sure,  will  equal,  if  not  eclipse,  any  she  has  had  in  Europe.  My 
countrymen  are  not  insensible  to  beauty  and  grace,  whatever  else 
they  may  lack.' 

'  I  trust  it  will  prove  so/  continued  Mrs.  G.  '  But  have  you 
heard  from  Mr.  Simpson  ?  It  is  high  time.  What  will  Fanny 
do  if  he  rejects  the  changes  made  in  Price's  engagement  ?  Her 
going  to  America  has  occasioned  such  a  talk,  and  she  has  been  at 
such  great  expense,  that  it  would  mortify  her  deeply  to  break 
down  at  the  last  moment.' 

*  I  have  heard  nothing,'  I  said,  '  and  feel  uneasy,  for  Fanny 
has  not  a  moment  to  lose.  There  is  no  dancing  in  our  summer 
heat.' 

'  She  can't  go  without  a  contract/  returned  Mrs.  G. ;  *  and  if 
Simpson  demurs,  or  fails  to  reply,  what  a  blow  to  my  pet!  It 
would  be  awful !' 

Our  conversation  ran  on  for  an  hour,  when  I  got  up,  pleading 
the  many  calls  on  my  list. 

'  I  have  not  half  done  with  you/  exclaimed  Mrs.  Grote.  '  Come 
back  to  dinner  this  evening ;  I  have  only  a  few  of  my  cronies. 
Fanny,  of  course,  as  she  is  not  dancing  to-night.  Her  success 
here  is  immense.  Houses  crammed  to  the  roof.  The  Queen  and 
Prince  Albert  constantly  there.' 


London  Revisited.  575 


Promising  to  return,  I  hurried  away  on  a  round  of  visits  which 
occupied  me  till  'dark.  I  had  barely  time  to  dress,  but  reached 
Eccleston-street  punctually.  Most  of  the  company  was  assem 
bled  :  three  ladies  and  as  many  gentlemen.  Fanny,  in  her  usual 
simple  toilet,  looked  very  lovely. 

'  Mechant  /'  she  said,  in  a  pouting  tone,  as  I  shook  hands  with 
her ;  'in  London  since  yesterday,  and  never  to  come  near  me!' 

'  I  knew  I  should  meet  you  to-night/  I  explained,  *  or  I  would 
have  called.' 

*  Well,'  she  replied,  '  you  must  come  to-morrow.  I  have  so 
much  to  say.  And  you  must  go  to  Mrs.  Price.  She  is  crazy  to* 
see  you — says  it  is  important.' 

I  promised  to  make  both  visits,  and  then  turned  to  chat  with 
Mr.  Grote.  I  found  him  more  genial  than  in  Paris  ;  but  he  had 
always  an  abstracted  air,  like  a  man  thinking  of  something  else. 
It  was  no  doubt  the  case,  as  he  was  plunged  knee-deep  in  a  his 
tory  of  Greece  that  quite  absorbed  him.  He  never  left  the  house 
without  some  Greek  books  in  his  pocket  to  consult  on  the  road. 
He  introduced  me  to  a  chum  of  his,  Sir  William  Molesworth, 
who  represented  an  ancient  baronetcy,  and  was  one  of  the  rising 
members  of  Parliament.  His  smooth  handsome  face  had  a  fresh 
boyish  aspect,  but  his  manner  was  ponderous  and  somewhat 
awkward.  Evidently  not  a  man  of  society,  but  rather  given  to- 
study  and  seclusion. 

I  observed  a  tall  slim  man  moving  affably  about  from  one 
to  another  with  a  sunny  smile  and  easy  d^gage  air  that  won 
upon  me  greatly.  I  felt  I  should  like  to  know  him,  and  asked 
my  host  to  introduce  me.  I  was  not  a  little  surprised  to  dis 
cover  he  was  a  fellow-countryman,  Charles  Sumner,  whom  I  had 
heard  frequently  talked  about  in  Paris  and  London  the  last  two 
years.  His  superior  intelligence  was  highly  praised,  but  I  fancied 
half  the  spell  lay  in  his  extreme  agreeableness.  In  the  best  Eng 
lish  society  he  was  an  immense  favourite,  and  hobnobbed  with 
all  the  leading  men  of  the  day.  He  had  read  much  and  talked 
well,  but  he  was  so  unassuming  and  gentlemanly  that  everybody 
took  to  him. 

'  I  am  much  gratified  to  meet  you,'  I  said  to  him,  '  and  con 
gratulate  you  on  your  success  abroad.  It  is  the  same  wherever 
you  go  ;  but  in  this  country  especially  you  have  disarmed  aris 
tocratic  prejudice,  and  made  it  easier  for  your  humbler  country 
men  to  get  on  pleasantly.' 


574  London  Revisited. 


'  You  are  much  too  kind,'  he  replied,  in  his  natural  winning 
way.  *  I  have  been  very  fortunate,  that's  all.' 

As  we  chatted  I  remarked  his  gaze  was  frequently  bent  on 
Fanny. 

1  You  seem  attracted,'  I  said, '  by  our  hostess's  newest  favourite, 
fresh  from  the  coulisses! 

4  Yes,  by  Jove  !'  he  returned  emphatically.  '  What  a  sweet- 
mannered,  refined  creature  she  appears  to  be  !  There's  something 
about  her,  a  je  ne  sais  quoiy  wonderfully  engaging.  And  who 
could  imagine  the  quiet  woman  sitting  there,  so  modest  and 
gentle,  is  the  brilliant,  dashing,  ethereal  artist  I  have  repeatedly 
applauded  at  the  Opera  ?' 

I  She  is  as  good  as  she  looks/  I  avouched.    *  Do  you  know  she 
is  going  to  America  ?' 

I 1  hear  it  everywhere,  and  Mrs.Grote  says  I  must  never  return 
to  London  if  I  don't  strain  every  nerve  to  make  her  tour  trium 
phant.'* 

1  Are  you  returning  home  ?'  I  asked. 

1  Yes,  within  a  month.' 

Dinner  was  announced,  and  we  all  paired  off.  When  the  ladies 
had  retired  we  had  a  little  political  talk,  which  in  England  seems 
to  mix  well  with  claret  or  port.  I  was  amused  at  the  fantastic 
•opinions  of  my  host  and  his  friend  Sir  William.  Both  enjoyed 
high  social  rank,  were  rich,  and  in  scholarship  not  surpassed.  I 
•expected  strong  Conservative  views,  if  not  something  more  ultra. 
Instead  of  that  they  discoursed  most  eloquent  Radicalism,  which 
had  even  a  potent  flavour  of  Republicanism.  Mr.  Grote  used  the 

*  Mr.  Sutnner  fulfilled  his  pledges  to  Mrs.  Grote  by  contributing  ardently  to  Mdlle. 
Elssler's  American  success.  I  give  an  extract  from  one  of  numerous  letters  in  proof : 

4  Court-street,  Boston,  October  n,  1840. 

My  dear  Wikoff, — Stern  business  (may  I  use  that  word  in  writing  to  you?)  pre 
vented  my  sending  you  a  line  at  Niagara,  and  I  now  scrawl  away,  hoping  this  will 
meet  you  on  your  arrival  at  New  York,  with  your  fair  charge.  I  know  nothing 
more  of  theatricals.  Forrest  is  still  here  ;  but,  since  Mdlle.  Fanny's  last  night,  I 
have  not  entered  the  house,  and  shall  not  again  till  she  returns.  Otis  is  well,  but 
refuses  to  be  comforted.  He  still  thinks  of  Paris,  and  of  her  who  brought  Paris  so 
vividly  to  the  minds  of  all  of  us.  ...  In  her  last  letter,  Mrs.  Grote  complains  of 
Fanny's  determination  to  prolong  her  stay  here  ;  says  she  has  lost  her  head,  and  that 
her  splendid  Parisian  throne  is  tottering  to  its  fall.  I  do  not  believe  this.  .  .  .  What 
are  your  plans?  Do  you  go  to  Havana?  In  that  case  I  will  introduce  to  you  my 
friend  Osgood  the  artist,  whose  reputation  you  know.  He  wishes  to  paint  Mdlle. 
Fanny  ;  and  if  you  can  prevail  upon  her  to  sit,  you  will  much  oblige  him,  as  well 
.as  myself.  Remember  me  most  cordially  to  mademoiselle  and  to  her  cousin  ;  and 
believe  me  faithfully  yours  and  theirs, 

CHARLES  SUMNER. 


London  Revisited.  575 


sonorous  language  of  a  philosopher,  and  Sir  William  disported 
himself  in  the  subtleties  of  a  metaphysician — such  was  the  dif 
ferent  character  of  their  minds  ;  but  both  enlarged  upon  '  ex 
tended  suffrage,'  '  vote  by  ballot,'  and  similar  fanciful  nostrums, 
that,  once  applied  in  England,  would  turn  its  old-fashioned  Con 
stitution  inside  out. 

I  have  remarked  that  ambitious  men  often  begin  their  political 
career  in  this  country  as  furious  reformers.  They  play  the  same 
pranks  as  the  demons  in  an  incantation  scene — flashing  red  fire, 
making  hideous  grimaces  and  startling  noises — till  some  day  the 
doors  of  the  House  of  Lords  are  thrown  open,  when,  presto,  they 
pop  in,  don  their  coronets,  and  forthwith  denounce  the  '  Radical 
gang'  they  so  recently  led.  I  could  count  a  dozen  who  had 
played  this  sly  game  within  as  many  years.* 

On  returning  to  the  drawing-room  we  were  regaled  with  some 
excellent  music.  My  eye  at  one  moment  happened  to  fall  upon 
Mrs.  Grote  sitting  by  Fanny  on  a  sofa,  who  was  evidently  urging 
upon  her  reluctant  guest  something  she  was  loth  to  under 
take.  Presently  the  two  walked  to  the  centre  of  the  room,  whilst 
one  of  the  ladies  went  to  the  piano  and  played  the  minuet.  I 
never  had  a  greater  treat.  Mrs.  Grote  acted  as  the  cavalier,  and 
Fanny's  grace  and  elegance  in  the  execution  of  this  stately  dance 
of  Louis  XIV.'s  time  riveted  every  eye;  and  all  applauded  raptur 
ously  as  she  ran  smiling  back  to  her  seat,  throwing  the  blame  of 
'the  performance'  on  Mrs.  Grote's  whimsical  fancy. 

Next  morning  I  betook  myself  to  Tavistock-square,  in  quest 
of  Mrs.  Price,  the  widow  of  my  poor  friend.  I  had  known  her  for 
some  time,  and  liked  her  much.  She  was  a  plump  and  pretty 
blonde,  under  thirty,  with  flaxen  hair,  soft  blue  eyes,  and  a 
joyous  disposition.  I  condoled  with  her  on  her  late  loss,  and 
said  it  must  have  been  sudden,  though  I  had  no  details  from  his 
very  laconic  partner. 

'  Yes/  she  replied,  '  it  was  most  unexpected.  He  had  never 
been  seriously  ill,  but  one  morning  was  sitting  in  his  chair,  look 
ing  out  of  the  window.  "  What  a  dark  and  dreary  day  is  this!" 
he  said ;  and  shortly  after  was  found  to  be  dead.  It  was  a  great 
blow,  for  I  was  much  attached  to  him,  though  double  my  age. 

*  Mr.  Grote  turned  out  an  exception,  for  he  was  offered  a  peerage  some  years 
afterwards,  which  he  modestly  declined.  In  his  latter  days,  however,  he  recanted 
his  Radical  heresies,  and  admitted  that  even  'vote  by  ballot,'  that  he  had  so  long 
advocated,  would  not  accelerate  the  Millennium. 


576  London  Revisited. 


I  must  go  to  New  York  immediately,  as  he  has  left  his  property  to 
me.  The  theatre  stands  in  his  name,  and  Mr.  Simpson  was  only 
his  associate  in  the  management.  I  am  so  happy  you  are  going 
out,  as  I  have  never  crossed  the  sea,  and  I  am  sure  you  will  take 
charge  of  me.' 

Though  a  good  deal  surprised,  I  answered  promptly  I  would 
do  so  for  her  own  as  well  as  for  her  late  husband's  sake. 

'  Then  the  Park  Theatre  has  fallen  into  your  hands  ?'  I  con 
tinued. 

'  Yes,'  she  returned, '  and  I  anticipate  large  profits  from  the 
engagement  of  Mdlle.  Elssler.' 

'  Do  you  know/  I  asked,  '  that  she  modified  the  agreement 
made  with  Mr.  Price,  and  it  may  be  that  Simpson  will  cavil 
at  it  ?' 

'  He  cannot  be  such  an  idiot/  she  declared, '  as  to  throw  away 
such  a  chance.  She  has  told  me  of  the  small  changes  proposed, 
and  I  approved  of  them.' 

1  Glad  to  hear  that ;  but  I  should  like  to  know  what  Simpson 
says.  I  must  get  his  letter  in  a  day  or  two,  methinks.' 

'  Please  let  me  know  the  moment  it  arrives/  she  begged;  and 
promising  to  do  so,  I  bade  her  good-morning. 

I  could  scarcely  refrain  from  smiling  at  the  rate  my  obligations 
were  increasing.  Besides  Fanny  and  her  cousin  Katy,  the  un 
looked-for  protection  of  Mrs.  Price  had  devolved  upon  me.  It 
was  a  considerable  satisfaction,  however,  to  know  the  control  of 
the  theatre  was  in  her  hands  ;  and  though  Simpson  was  still  the 
manager,  yet  he  might  be  overpowered  if  he  proved  rebellious. 

I  dropped  in  upon  the  Dunlops  in  the  same  neighbourhood. 
The  ladies  were  out,  but  the  master  of  the  house  was  luckily  at 
home.  He  applauded  my  resolution  to  return  immediately  to 
Philadelphia,  and  said  the  case  would  not  admit  of  a  day's  de 
lay  ;  that  it  was  most  important  to  investigate  at  once  the  con 
dition  of  my  property,  that  had  lain  for  fourteen  years,  as  I  had 
stated,  in  my  guardian's  keeping.  He  added  that  money  affairs 
were  very  unsettled,  and  that  the  disorder  in  American  finance 
had  affected  England  gravely,  which  showed  how  closely  con 
nected  the  interests  of  the  two  countries  had  become.  Leaving 
my  regards  to  his  family,  I  gladly  promised  to  come  to  dinner 
the  next  day.  It  was  at  the  end  of  my  tongue  to  tell  my  dear 
old  friend  what  a  strange  assortment  of  live  cargo  I  had  charge 
of  on  my  voyage  to  America,  but  hesitated  lest  he  might  find 


London  Revisited.  577 


fault.  I  asked,  however,  if  the  ladies  had  been  to  the  Opera  to 
see  Fanny  Elssler. 

'  No/  he  said,  '  but  they  are  dying  to  go.* 

'  Then  I  will  secure  a  box  for  them  at  once.' 

'  They  will  be  delighted,  I  am  sure/  he  replied,  as  I  drove  off. 

I  complied  with  Fanny's  wish,  and  had  a  long  chat  with 
her  in  the  afternoon.  She  was  in  ecstasies  at  my  departure  for 
America. 

1  To  tell  you  the  truth/  she  confessed,  *  as  the  moment 
.approached  my  dread  increased,  and  it  appeared  to  me  sheer 
insanity  to  start  off  alone  to  a  foreign  land  so  far  away,  whose 
language  and  customs  I  was  ignorant  of.  I  had  almost  re 
solved,  in  spite  of  ridicule  and  loss,  to  renounce  the  wild  enter 
prise,  when  Mrs.  Grote  told  me  you  were  obliged  to  go  home  on 
pressing  business.  I  was  overjoyed  at  the  intelligence,  and  now 
I  look  forward  with  delight  to  this  strange  and  exciting  expedi 
tion.  All  the  Americans  I  have  seen  inspire  me  with  confidence. 
They  seem  so  frank,  truthful,  and  deferential  to  women  that  I 
have  fallen  in  love  with  their  country  before  seeing  it.' 

'  You  are  very  complimentary/  I  answered,  *  and  I  hope  you 
may  always  retain  your  kind  sentiments  towards  my  country 
men.  But  I  must  sober  your  expectations  as  regards  myself. 
I  am  going  to  my  native  town,  whilst  you  are  bound  to  New 
York,  a  hundred  miles  away.  I  shall  be  pleased  to  escort  you 
there,  and  must  then  leave  you.' 

*  I  don't  care/  she  replied  gaily.     '  You  will  be  near  enough 
to  advise  me,  and  protect  me  if  required.     I  shall  have  a  friend 
at  hand  I  can  trust  implicitly.' 

'  Not  so  fast/  I  interrupted.  '  You  are  counting  your  chickens 
before  they  are  hatched,  as  the  saying  is.  You  may  never  go  to 
America  at  all.  Mr.  Simpson  has  not  yet  accepted  the  new 
engagement,  and  you  would  not  think  of  going  unless  he  does.' 

This  remark  seemed  to  dispirit  her. 

'  That  would  be  a  sad  disappointment/  she  admitted. 

Then  reflecting  a  moment,  she  added, 

*  I  will  withdraw  my  propositions  if  he  objects — anything 
rather  than  give  it  up  after  all  that  has  been  said,  done,  and 
written  about  my  trip  to  America.' 

*  Well,  we  shall  see/  I  interposed.  *  There  are  nearly  ten  days 
before  I  embark,  and  we  must  have  some  news  before  then.     It 
is  foolish,  however,  to  be  too  sanguine,  though  I  agree  with  Mrs. 

PP 


578       '  London  Revisited. 


Price,  whom  I  saw  this  morning,  that  Simpson  is  not  likely  to 
let  slip  such  an  opportunity  to  fill  his  pouches.' 

We  rattled  on  for  some  time  to  this  effect ;  and  when  I  pre 
pared  to  go,  she  asked, 

'  Are  you  coming  to  see  me  to-night  in  La  Tarentule  f  I 
never  danced  better,  they  say.  Come  and  tell  me  if  I  shall  do 
for  New  York.' 

*  Make  yourself  easy  about  that/  I   assured  her.     '  One  of 
your  pirouettes  will  throw  them  into   transports.     I    am  only 
anxious  that  Simpson  should  not  pocket  all  the  profits.' 

*  O,  I  don't  care  about  the  money,'  she  protested,  with  the 
abandon  of  a  true    artist,  '  if  they  only  like  me,  if  they  only 
applaud  me.     I  will  do  my  best  to  deserve  it.' 

'You  will  get  an  ovation  you'll  never  forget,'  I  declared, 'or  I 
overrate  the  taste  and  enthusiasm  of  my  countrymen.  Good 
bye  :  I  cannot  come  to-night ;  but  shall  on  Saturday  with  some 
dear  friends  of  mine.' 

'  I  will  try  to  captivate  them,  if  possible,'  she  replied,  with  an 
arch  smile. 

That  night  I  went  to  a  party  at  Lord  Brougham's,  and  was 
wonder-struck  at  the  splendour  of  the  assemblage.  All  the 
great  titles  of  the  realm  were  revolving  like  stars  around  the 
central  luminary,  the  greatest  genius  of  his  day. 

Henry  Brougham  began  public  life,  as  stated,  one  of  the 
fiercest  of  innovators,  and  seemed  disposed  to  throw  England 
into  chaos.  After  attacking  with  stormy  energy  all  sides  of  the 
old  organisation,  the  oligarchy  included,  unexpectedly  he  threw 
down  his  Hercules  club,  was  arrayed  in  a  peer's  mantle,  and 
sat  on  the  woolsack  as  Lord  Chancellor,  with  the  hereditary 
title  of  Baron  Brougham  and  Vaux.  Since  that  day  the  new 
noble  manifested  the  keenest  eagerness  to  be  on  the  best  terms 
with  the  loftiest  of  his  order.  Instead  of  turning  their  backs  on 
the  parvenu,  as  the  French  noblesse  did  on  Voltaire  and  other 
men  of  genius,  the  English  grandees,  very  sagacious  men,  cheer 
fully  accepted  invitations  to  the  house  of  the  ex-iconoclast, 
politely  ignoring  his  malevolence  in  the  past,  and  only  desirous 
to  bridle  his  daring  tongue  in  the  future.  Knowing  this,  I  was 
not  surprised  at  the  imposing  muster  of  the  Tory  party  of  the 
highest  rank  in  the  spacious  saloons  of  Grafton-street,  but  in  my 
eyes  the  longest  pedigrees  and  most  glittering  escutcheons  paled 
before  the  *  noblest  Roman  of  them  all.'  There  stood  the  whilom 


London  Revisited.  579 


Ensign  Wellesley,  now  the  puissant  Duke  of  Wellington.  On 
his  arm  was  leaning  affectionately  the  superb  Marchioness  of 
Douro,  his  step-daughter.  It  was  a  strange  conjunction  :  youth 
and  beauty — age  and  glory.  What  an  epitome  of  history  that 
venerable  warrior  in  plain  evening  dress  represented,  and  how 
calmly  he  bore  the  gaze  of  the  crowd  which  bowed  as  it  swept 
by,  but  rarely  presumed  to  speak  ! 

Nothing  amused  and  interested  me  more  that  night  than  the 
marvellous  change  of  manner  in  Lord  Brougham — quite  a  new 
phase  of  this  Protean  man.  At  the  dinner-table  of  Gore  House, 
or  among  his  intimates  anywhere,  he  was  free  and  easy,  rollick 
ing,  sans  f agon,  talking  impetuously,  with  every  feature  and  limb 
in  motion.  In  his  own  house,  with  the  flower  of  the  land  sur 
rounding  him,  he  was  stately,  dignified,  refined — the  courteous 
attentive  host,  moving  freely  amongst  his  guests,  an  affable  word 
for  one,  a  pleasant  smile  for  another.  It  was  an  exquisite  bit  of 
acting,  but  doubtless  a  bore.  It  was  not  what  he  liked  best ; 
but  noblesse  oblige. 

I  had  just  finished  breakfast  next  morning  when  the  waiter 
announced  that  a  gentleman  wished  to  see  me  immediately  on 
business.  I  ordered  him  to  be  admitted  ;  and  in  a  few  moments 
a  stout  man,  done  up  in  a  spruce  suit  of  black,  with  a  large  round 
visage  and  bright  eye,  entered  the  room.  He  handed  me  his 
card :  '  Mr.  H.  Placide,  of  New  York.'  It  was  the  inimitable 
actor  of  that  name,  and  a  person  of  great  respectability. 

*  I  thought  I  knew  your  face,'  I  said,  '  but  did  not  dream  you 
were  in  London.' 

'  Just  arrived,'  he  stated, '  and  have  been  in  pursuit  of  you 
ever  since.  I  have  brought  a  letter  from  Mr.  Simpson,  who  sent 
me  over  ;'  and  he  handed  it  to  me. 

*  I  have  been  expecting  it  for  some  days/  I  observed ;  and, 
with  an  '  Allow  me,'  broke  it  open  and  read  as  follows : 

New  York,  March  19,  1840. 

Dear  Sir, — Since  I  wrote  you  last  I  have  received  your  favour  inform 
ing  me  that  you  had  signed  an  agreement  with  Mdlle.  Elssler  on  my 
part,  which  I  sincerely  regret  I  cannot  ratify.  I  was  willing  to  take  up 
Mr.  Price's  arrangement  with  her,  and  so  offered ;  but  certainly  never 
would  consent  to  her  altering  the  time  fixed  for  her  appearing  here,  or 
making  my  self  liable  to  a  forfeit  of  2500  dollars.  Presuming  that  on 
Mdlle.  Elssler's  hesitation  to  accept  the  ratification  of  Mr.  Price's  en 
gagement  by  me  that  she  would  decline  coming  altogether,  I  have  made 


580  London  Revisited. 


arrangements  that  will  preclude  the  possibility  of  her  beginning  here 
before  the  i8th  of  May.  That  period  is  much  too  late;  and  for  the 
sake  of  all  parties  I  would  advise  her  to  remain  in  Europe  till  the  next 
season.  Mr.  Placide  will  see  you  and  the  lady  on  the  subject,  and  will 
make  every  arrangement  necessary  to  that  end.  I  sincerely  regret  the 
trouble  you  have  had  in  this  disagreeable  business,  and  thank  you  most 
cordially  for  your  kindness. — Very  truly  yours, 

E.  SIMPSON. 

H.  Wikoff,  Esq. 

Fanny's  campaign  was  thus  summarily  disposed  of  till  next 
year.  It  was  a  stroke  of  luck  for  me ;  but  I  knew  it  would  be  a 
cruel  blow  for  her.  Concealing  my  emotions,  that  were  conflict 
ing,  I  said,  in  a  careless  way : 

'As  Mr.  Simpson  rejects  the  contract  I  signed  on  his  behalf, 
my  functions  are  at  an  end.  It  is  idle  to  talk  of  Mdlle.  Elssler's 
visit  for  next  season,  as  it  is  out  of  the  question.' 

'  Bless  me  !'  exclaimed  Mr.  Placide,  much  astonished, '  why  is 
that  ?' 

'  Simply,'  I  continued,  'because  her  leave  of  absence  from  the 
Opera  expires  in  September,  and  cannot  be  renewed.  She  must 
go  now,  or  never.' 

*  Good  gracious  !  how  unfortunate  !'  he  returned.     '  Mr.  Simp 
son  never  anticipated  such  a  difficulty  ;  and  you  know  it  would 
be  far  better  to  begin  in  New  York  in  September  than  the  middle 
of  May.' 

*  I  grant  it,'  was  my  reply  ;  *  but  you  see  it  is  impossible.' 

A  pause  ensued,  whilst  Simpson's  ambassador  pondered 
deeply.  At  last,  raising  his  head,  he  asked  : 

'  What's  to  be  done  ?  I  can  arrange  nothing,  save  for  next 
season.' 

*  I  will  see  Mdlle.  Elssler  and  her  advisers,'  I  informed  him, 
*  and  write  to  you  to-morrow.     However,  the  business,  it  strikes 
me,  is  at  an  end.' 

He  thanked  me,  and  went  away  much  perplexed. 
I  drove  straightway  to  Mrs.  Grote. 

'  I  have  news  at  last,'  I  said  on  entering  her  boudoir,  '  but 
ruinous  for  Fanny.' 

I  handed  her  Simpson's  letter,  which  she  perused  eagerly. 

*  It  is  crushing,  indeed,'  she  ejaculated,  looking  quite  distressed 
f  It  will  almost  break  her  heart,  she  is  so  deeply  committed  and 
has  spent  so  much  money.     Is  there  no  remedy,  no  loophole  ?' 


London  Revisited.  581 


*  I  ought  to  be  content,'  I  replied, '  with  the  turn  affairs  have 
taken,  for  it  frees  me  from  all  contingencies ;  but  I  find  my  sym 
pathies  stronger  than  my  discretion.' 

'  You  are  not  the  preux  chevalier  I  took  you  for,  if  that  were 
not  the  case.' 

'  I  have  thought  it  all  over/  I  continued, '  and  Fanny  must  be 
saved.' 

'  But  how  ?' 

1 1  will  see  Mrs.  Price  and  secure  her  adhesion.  A  new  con 
tract  must  then  be  drawn  up,  guaranteeing  fifteen  or  twenty  per 
formances,  during  May  and  June,  in  New  York.  We  will  all 
combine  and  make  Simpson's  agent  sign  this,  which  will  bind 
his  j  rincipal.' 

1  That  will  do  admirably,'  cried  Mrs.  Grote,  elated.  *  I  will 
draw  up  the  engagement  at  once.  You  see  Mrs.  Price ;  she  is 
most  anxious  to  have  Fanny  go,  and  will  bring  all  her  influence 
to  bear.' 

'  For  goodness*  sake,'  I  entreated, '  not  a  syllable  to  Fanny 
of  what  has  happened.  It  would  worry  her  dreadfully,  and  she 
has  need  of  all  her  strength.  For  the  last  three  months  she  has 
been  under  a  tremendous  strain  of  mind  and  body.' 

*  No,  not  a  syllable  till  something  is  decided,'  said  Mrs.  G. 
compassionately.     *  Poor  dear  thing !     It  would  break  her  down, 
I  am  sure.' 

I  had  a  long  chat  with  Mrs.  Price,  who  was  in  terror  at  the 
engagement  falling  through,  as  she  expected  a  considerable  sum 
from  it  as  lessee  of  the  theatre.  She  adopted  my  plan  readily, 
and  said  she  would  sign  if  Placide  refused. 

1  Yet,'  I  said, '  Simpson  is  locum  tenensl  which  I  explained  to 
her,  *  and  I  prefer  the  signature  of  his  agent.' 

'  Then,'  she  declared  energetically,  '  we  must  make  him  sign/ 

I  proposed  she  should  write  to  Placide  to  meet  us  both  at  Mrs. 
Grote's  house  the  next  day,  at  two  o'clock,  which  she  undertook. 
I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Grote  of  the  rendezvous  arranged,  and  she  re 
ported  the  contract  was  ready. 

We  all  met,  as  agreed,  and  a  tedious  sitting  we  had  of  it. 
Placide  was  conscientious,  careful,  and  even  timid.  He  had  the 
greatest  dread  of  exceeding  his  authority,  and  of '  putting  his 
foot  in  it,'  as  he  phrased  it. 

*  I  know/  he  stated, '  that  Mr.  Simpson  has  made  engagements 
for  May  and  June  ;  and  how  can  he  get  out  of  them  ?' 


582  London  Revisited. 


1  Buy  out,'  I  suggested  ;  '  it  would  not  cost  much  ;  and  let  the 
expense  be  divided  between  him,  Mrs.  Price,  and  Mdlle.  Elssler.' 

'  I  consent,'  said  Mrs.  Price  promptly. 

'  I  see,'  continued  Placide,  much  bothered, '  the  contract  says 
we  must  provide  a  corps  de  ballet.  We  have  no  such  thing,  and 
don't  know  what  it  is.' 

We  all  laughed  at  this  candid  sally. 

*  Then,'  I  added, '  Mdlle.  Elssler  must  manufacture  one  on 
the  spot.' 

'  But,  believe  me,'  persisted  the  nervous  delegate,  *  the  result 
is  doubtful :  business  is  so  bad  in  New  York — no  money  in  the 
country.' 

'  Fudge !'  contended  Mrs.  Grote.  *  Fanny  will  dance  every 
thing  to  rights  again.  Go  and  see  her  ;  I'll  give  you  a  stall.' 

After  some  two  hours  the  anxious  agent  was  badgered  into 
signing  the  agreement,  when  he  sat  down,  took  out  his  bandana 
(as  big  as  a  flag),  and  sopped  the  perspiration  streaming  in  tor 
rents  down  his  honest  face. 

'  Now  send  for  Fanny,'  I  whispered  to  Mrs.  G.,  '  and  tell  her 
all  about  it.  She  will  tremble  at  her  escape.' 

Bidding  all  good-bye,  I  hurried  back  to  my  hotel,  to  meet  M. 
Maillard  by  appointment. 

I  have  already  mentioned  this  gentleman,  who  was  the  fac 
totum  of  the  ex-King,  the  Count  de  Survilliers.  He  was  with 
him  during  his  reign  in  Spain,  and  had  been  faithful  to  his 
fortunes  since.  He  was  an  upright  and  amiable  man.  His  young 
son  was  full  of  promise,  and  a  great  favourite  of  his  ex-Majesty.* 
He  called  soon  after  my  return. 

'The  Count,'  he  began,  'was  sorry  he  was  out  when  you 
came  the  other  day,  but  has  sent  me  to  ask  you  to  dine  with 
him  on  Friday,  and  to  say  he  has  another  favour  to  request,  but 
not  so  onerous  as  the  last/ 

'I  am  always  at  the  service  of  the  illustrious  Count/  I 
answered,  'and  shall  be  flattered  to  dine  with  him.  Is  it  a 
large  party  ?' 

'  No  ;  some  seven  or  eight.  You  have  met  them  all  before, 
save  two,  the  Prince  Louis  Napoleon  and  the  Countess  Merlin.' 

'  I  have  long  wished  to  know  the  Prince  Louis,'  I  replied, 

*  M.  Maillard  jun.,  after  the   death  of  Joseph  Bonaparte,  returned  to  Borden- 
town,   N.J.,  \vhere  he  had  been  brought  up,  and  afterwards  married    Miss  Anne 
Ward,  sister  of  the  well-known  Mr.  Sam.  Ward,  and  now  resides  in  California. 


London  Revisited.  583 


1  and  am  enchanted  at  the  prospect.  I  was  not  aware  the  cele 
brated  Countess  was  in  London.' 

'  Yes,'  responded  M.  Maillard ;  '  she  is  on  a  visit  to  the 
Count.  You  know  her  husband,  General  Count  Merlin,  was 
long  an  aide-de-camp  to  King  Joseph.  It  is  concerning  her  the 
Count  wishes  to  see  you.' 

I  was  filled  with  surprise,  but  simply  bowed. 

*  You  will  be  at  Hanover  House,  then,  on  Friday/  said  my 
friend,  shaking  hands. 

*  Sansfautel  I  rejoined,  'and  my  grateful  thanks  to  the  Count.' 
I  was   quite  elated  at  the  thought  of  meeting  the  Prince 

Louis  Napoleon,  whose  career  had  inspired  me  with  the  liveliest 
interest.  He  was  a  "Son  of  the  former  King  of  Holland,  and  sole 
heir  of  the  great  Emperor.  In  youth  he  had  been  an  active 
leader  of  the  popular  party  in  Italy  against  Austria.  In  1836 
he  headed  a  military  insurrection  in  Strasburg,  when  he  was 
taken  prisoner,  and  finally  deported.  He  returned  in  1838,  and 
settled  down  at  his  chateau  in  Switzerland  ;  but  the  French 
Government,  alarmed  at  his  proximity,  demanded  the  Swiss 
Federation  to  banish  him.  This  was  boldly  refused  ;  and  to  pre 
vent  a  war,  Prince  Louis  voluntarily  abandoned  his  residence 
and  came  to  London,  where  he  now  lived  in  much  splendour. 
He  believed  it  was  his  destiny  to  reign  over  France,  and  would 
never  cease  plotting  till  he  gained  the  crown  or  lost  his  life. 
His  ability  was  undoubted.  His  last  book,  Napoleonic  Ideas,  was 
translated  all  over  Europe.  His  daring  spirit  and  fixed  purpose 
made  him  formidable  to  the  Orleans  dynasty. 

I  was  greatly  pleased,  also,  to  encounter  the  Countess  Merlin, 
one  of  the  most  distinguished  women  of  Paris,  equally  famous 
for  her  intelligence,  beauty,  and  warm  heart.  She  was  of  Spanish 
descent,  and  her  splendid  house  in  Paris  was  a  neutral  ground 
for  all  parties.  The  Legitimist  nobility  met  there  the  Orleans 
Ministers,  together  with  all  the  renowned  talent  of  Paris  and 
Europe.  She  was  especially  noted  for  her  wonderful  voice,  and 
at  her  brilliant  concerts  she  frequently  sang  with  Malibran  and 
Grisi,  and  was  considered  equal  to  either. 

I  was  most  warmly  welcomed  by  his  ex-Majesty,  the  kind- 
hearted  Count  de  Survilliers,  whom  I  had  not  seen  for  upwards 
of  two  years.  After  chatting  with  me  for  a  few  minutes  he  led 
me  up  to  a  lady,  whose  handsome  face,  dark  eyes,  and  un 
rivalled  bust  quite  enchained  me,  and  said, 


584  London  Revisited. 


'  My  dear  Countess,  this  is  the  gentleman  to  whose  care  I  mean 
to  confide  you.' 

He  then  explained  that  the  Countess  Merlin  was  going  to 
New  York  by  the  next  steamer,  on  her  way  to  Cuba,  to  inherit  a 
large  property  ;  and  hearing  I  was  going  by  the  same  vessel,  he 
proposed  to  put  her  under  my  charge,  and  he  was  sure  I  would 
not  refuse  him  this  service. 

'  I  will  try,'  said  the  Countess,  smiling,  '  not  to  give  you  too 
much  trouble.' 

I  assured  the  Count  I  was  deeply  honoured  by  his  flattering 
confidence,  and  pledged  myself  to  the  Countess  to  do  my  best  to 
serve  her.  I  went  on  conversing  with  her,  and  found  the  re 
ports  of  her  esprit  w\&  charming  disposition  in  nowise  exagger 
ated.  All  the  time,  I  was  planning  how  I  could  break  to  her  that 
Fanny  was  going  out  in  the  '  Great  Western'  under  my  auspices, 
to  say  nothing  of  Mrs.  Price.  At  last  I  ventured  on  the  dis 
closure  : 

*  My  devoted  attentions,  Madame  la  Comtesse,  will  be  given 
at  all  times  to  your  comfort ;  but  I  have  already  promised  to 
look  occasionally  after  two    other  ladies  who  will    be  fellow- 
passengers —  one   an    English  dame,  and    the  other  you  have 
doubtless  heard  of — Mdlle.  Fanny  Elssler,  both  old   acquaint 
ances/ 

*  What,  la  belle  Fanny !'  she  exclaimed.     '  I  heard  she  was 
going  to  America.     She  has  so  often  fascinated  me,  I  shall  be 
delighted  to  tell  her  so.     You  must  introduce  her.' 

Jiist  then  '  His  Highness  the  Prince  Louis  Napoleon'  was 
announced,  and  the  Countess  went  up  to  speak  to  him. 

My  gaze  was  concentrated  for  some  minutes  on  the  new-comer. 
He  was  about  medium  height  and  well  made.  His  face  indicated 
resolution,  and  his  eyes,  that  he  kept  half-closed,  revealed  subtlety 
as  well  as  daring.  His  manner  was  graceful,  composed,  and  very 
distingue.  He  had  the  air  of  a  man  superior  by  nature  as  by  birth. 
He  would  strike  any  one  as  far  *  above  the  common.'  I  was  still 
contemplating  him,  and  pondering  over  his  future,  when  the 
Count  approached,  and  said, 

'  Come,  let  me  present  you  to  my  nephew.' 

Addressing  the  Prince,  he  observed, 

'  You  have  often  heard  me  speak,  my  dear  Louis,  of  my  friend 
M.  Wikoff.  I  hope  you  will  always  receive  him  kindly  for  my 
sake.  He  is  worthy  of  your  regard.' 


London  Revisited.  585 


The  Prince  took  me  cordially  by  the  hand,  and  I  was  struck 
by  his  singularly  seductive  smile. 

*  I  hope,'  he  said, '  we  shall  be  long  and  fast  friends.     I  have 
frequently  heard  Lady  Blessington  speak  of  you.'* 

I  made  my  acknowledgments  in  the  most  grateful  terms. 
Whilst  we  were  talking  the  butler  announced, ' Le  diner  estservi! 
The  Count  led  in  the  Countess  Merlin,  and  the  Prince  escorted 
his  cousin  Lady  Dudley  Stuart. 

The  dinner  was  truly  regal,  and  it  was  half-past  ten  before 
we  returned  to  the  drawing-rooms.  The  company  broke  up 
soon  after  eleven,  when  I  discovered  to  my  annoyance  that  my 
carriage  had  not  arrived.  The  Count  was  living  in  the  depths 
of  Regent's  Park,  and  the  night  was  wet.  I  mentioned  my 
predicament  to  the  urbane  M.  Maillard,  who  said  he  would 
arrange  it  immediately.  He  returned  in  a  moment,  and  noti 
fied  me, 

1  The  Prince  will  take  you  home.  He  lives  in  Carlton  Gardens, 
very  near  to  your  hotel.' 

'  But  it  may  not  be  convenient  or  agreeable  to  his  Highness,' 
I  remonstrated,  rather  shocked  at  being  forced  upon  him. 

*  It  will  give  him  the  greatest  pleasure,  I  am  sure,'  asserted  M- 
Maillard. 

I  asked  the  Countess,  in  bidding  her  good-night,  if  I  should 
escort  her  from  London  to  Bristol. 

'  No,  thank  you/  she  replied  ;  '  I  shall  be  well  guarded  till  I 
reach  the  steamer,  where  your  functions  will  begin.' 

The  venerable  Count  uttered  many  kind  words  in  saying 
good-bye,  and  I  little  thought  I  should  never  see  him  again. 

In  entering  the  Prince's  carriage  I  sat  down  on  the  front  seat, 
out  of  deference  to  his  rank  ;  but  he  said  immediately, 

'  Pas  de  certmonie.     Come  sit  by  me.' 

This  was  characteristic.  He  was  always  amiable,  however 
stately. 

'  Are  you  going  to  Gore  House  on  Sunday  night  ?'  he  inquired 
as  he  set  me  down. 

'  Yes,  Monseigneur ;  I  am  going  to  say  adieu/ 

'Then  we  shall  meet  again,  as  I  dine  there.  Au  revoir  f  and 
waving  his  hand,  drove  off. 

I  could  not  help  being  amused,  though  a  little  fluttered,  at  still 

*  The  acquaintance  thus  begun  lasted  unbroken  till  the  Emperor's  death  in 

January  1873. 


586  London  Revisited. 

another  addition  to  my  responsibilities  aboard  ship.  I  felt  my 
self  equal  to  the  task  of  supervising  Fanny,  her  cousin,  and 
Mrs.  Price  ;  but  the  petits  soins  that  would  be  expected  by 
a  great  lady,  so  much  courted  as  the  Countess  Merlin,  might 
possibly  overweight  me.  Fortunately,  so  far  from  haughty  and 
exacting,  she  was  the  personification  of  good-nature,  and  the  kind 
feeling  she  displayed  towards  Fanny  relieved  me  from  all  em 
barrassment.  Luckily,  too,  I  was  a  good  sailor,  and  should  be 
ready  at  all  hours  to  meet  any  demands  upon  me. 

Only  three  days  remained  before  my  departure,  and  every 
minute  was  mortgaged. 

On  Saturday  night  Fanny  made  her  farewell  appearance.  It 
was  a  scene  of  splendour  and  excitement  I  never  saw  equalled. 
The  young  Queen  and  her  handsome  husband  and  suite  were 
there.  Prince  Louis  Napoleon  and  entourage  occupied  a  con 
spicuous  box.  The  house  was  densely  packed,  and  the  prices 
demanded  were  unprecedented.* 

The  enthusiasm  knew  no  bounds.  Poor  Fanny  was  called 
on  incessantly,  and  almost  smothered  under  bouquets  and 
wreaths.  She  seemed  quite  affected  by  the  demonstrations.  As 
the  curtain  fell  at  the  close  the  occupants  of  the  'omnibus  box/ 
Count  D'Orsay,  Lord  Chesterfield,  Sir  George  Wombwell,  and 
others,  cried  out  repeatedly,  '  Bon  voyage  !  Bon  voyage  /' 

1  began  on  Sunday  morning  by  breakfasting  with  Mr.  R.  M. 
Milnes  at  his  quarters  in  Pall  Mall.  He  was  a  member  of  Parlia 
ment,  but  more  celebrated  in  literature.  He  had  written  several 
poems  of  striking  merit  that  are  destined  to  live.  He  was  bland 
in  address,  and  most  impressive  in  conversation.!  On  my  re 
turn  to  the  hotel,  I  found  Placide  anxiously  waiting  for  me.  He 
said  he  had  received  unexpected  news  from  New  York,  that 
would  doubtless  be  most  unpleasant  to  Mdlle.  Elssler  and  her 
friends. 

'  Indeed  !'  I  interjected  ;  '  and  what  may  it  be  ?' 

'  I  had  a  letter,'  he  continued, '  last  night  from  Mr.  Simpson, 

*  Mrs.  Grote,  in  a  note,  gave  way  to  a  murmur  : 

Saturday. 

I  am  to  be  victimised  again  to-night  (to  a  precious  tune,  too)  for  Fanny's  last 
performance.  Grand  tier.  Mind  you  pay  me  a  visit.  Ill  in  bed  all  yesterday ; 
never  got  up  at  all  ;  knocked  up.  But  must  go  to-night,  cost  what  it  may  to  health 
or  pocket.  High  time  the  sorceress  was  off!  H.  G. 

f  Mr.  Milnes  was  raised  to  the  House  of  Peers  as  Lord  Houghton  in  1863.  ^e 
was  much  feted  in  New  York  which  he  visited  two  or  three  years  ago; 


London  Revisited.  587 


who  says  the  business  was  so  bad,  he  had  closed  the  theatre, 
and  dismissed  his  company/ 

This  was  a  thunder-clap,  and  for  a  moment  I  was  silent. 

'  You  remember,'  he  added, '  I  said  it  was  wiser  to  adjourn 
the  affair  till  September.  It  would  be  rank  folly  for  Mdlle. 
Elssler  to  begin  in  May ;  and,  financially,  the  time  is  most  un- 
propitious.  However,  it  is  out  of  the  question  now.' 

1 1  see  it  is/  I  slowly  replied  ;  *  and  perhaps  it  is  all  for  the 
best1 

'  Will  you  kindly  convey  the  facts  to  Miss  Fanny  and  Mrs, 
Grote  ?' 

'  I  will.' 

'  And  should  you  feel  disposed  to  draw  up  another  contract 
for  next  season,  I  shall  be  happy  to  call.' 

' 1  will  let  you  know,'  were  my  last  words  as  he  bade  me 
good-morning. 

I  sat  me  down  and  examined  the  situation  calmly,  but  fully. 
For  weeks  the  papers  of  Paris  and  London  had  discussed  Fanny's 
visit  to  the  United  States.  She  had  obtained  six  months'  leave 
from  the  Opera,  and  had  nearly  drained  her  purse  in  preparations. 
Worse  than  all,  her  mind  was  so  set  upon  it,  and  her  feelings 
so  stirred  by  the  reception  she  was  told  awaited  her  in  New 
York,  that  a  collapse  now  would  be  an  overwhelming  shock.  At 
all  events,  I  was  completely  emancipated  by  Simpson's  act  of 
shutting  up  shop,  and  could  now  go  tranquilly  home,  transact  my 
business,  and  return  to  Paris  and  my  old  haunts.  What  should 
I  do  ?  I  asked  myself  over  and  over  again,  as  I  paced  up  and 
down  my  room.  '  Shall  I  leave  Fanny  to  her  fate  and  her  tears  ? 
Can  there  be  a  doubt  of  her  success,  even  in  the  month  of  May, 
and  with  trade  languishing  ?'  This  was  the  vital  point.  *  No,'  I 
exclaimed,  after  deep  rumination, '  not  a  shadow  of  doubt.  If  this 
opportunity  is  lost,  she  will  forfeit  a  large  sum  and  immense 
prestige.'  And  the  widow  of  my  old  friend,  Mrs.  Price,  who 
counted  anxiously  on  the  gains  of  Fanny's  engagement.  At  last 
I  gave  way  to  my  feelings,  not  knowing  or  caring  what  it  might 
cost.  It  was  rash  ;  but  young  men,  especially  of  the  sentimental 
sort,  will  commit  follies.  . 

Putting  on  my  hat,  I  drove  off  to  Tavistock-square. 

'  Do  you  know  the  Park  Theatre  is  closed  ?'  I  asked  Mrs.  Price. 

c  Placide  has  told  me  so/  she  responded,  *  and  I  am  grieved 
beyond  measure.' 


588  London  Revisited. 

'  Will  you  put  it  in  my  hands  ?'  I  demanded.  '  I  will  pay  any 
thing  in  reason.' 

'  Cheerfully/  she  said,  astonished.    '  But  what  do  you  mean  ?' 

'  I  mean  to  take  Fanny  over  on  Wednesday's  steamer,  ap 
point  a  manager  when  I  arrive,  and  open  the  house.' 

'Capital!'  she  cried,  delighted.  'Will  she  go  without  an 
engagement  ?  I  fear  not.' 

'  I  will  not  tell  her  what  has  happened,'  I  said.  '  I  will  take 
the  hazard  and  pay  the  loss,  if  there  be  any.  Not  a  word  to 
Fanny  nor  to  Mrs.  Grote,  still  less  to  Placide.  There  is  no  time 
to  wrangle.  The  day  after  to-morrow  we  must  leave/ 

'  Not  a  word,'  she  promised  emphatically.    '  It  might  spoil  all.' 

'  Then  meet  me  at  Paddington  Station  on  Tuesday  at  nine 
A.M./  I  proposed, '  and  we  will  all  start  together.  I  am  sanguine.' 

'  So  am  I,'  she  asserted,  and  her  eyes  sparkled  at  the  venture. 

Women  always  like  a  risk.  I  called  on  Fanny  in  the  after 
noon.  I  thought  it  best  to  sound  her.  I  might,  even  in  my  desire 
to  serve  her,  go  too  far.  She  received  me  with  heartiness,  but 
blamed  me  for  neglecting  her. 

'  You  hardly  know  how  busy  I  have  been/  I  replied.  '  I 
come  now  to  make  a  reconnaissance.  How  are  your  nerves? 
Are  you  ready  for  the  jump?  On  Tuesday  we  are  off  for 
America.' 

'  Yes/  she  declared,  her  face  flushing  ; '  my  heart  bounds  at 
the  thought.  I  am  eager  for  the  hour  of  departure.' 

'  Mrs.  Grote  t6ld  you/  I  went  on, '  that  Simpson  rejected  the 
engagement.  We  patched  up  another  with  his  agent,  but  he 
may  not  recognise  it.  Reflect ;  will  vou  brave  it  ?' 

Her  head  fell,  and  for  a  moment  she  was  buried  in  thought. 
Then  looking  up,  with  her  eyes  suffused,  she  said  very  deliber 
ately, 

'  I  have  never  moved  a  foot  in  Europe  without  a  settled  en 
gagement  ;  but  my  confidence  in  you  is  unbounded,  and  a  blind 
belief  possesses  me  in  the  warm  hearts  and  generous  nature  of 
your  countrymen.  Yes,  partons.  I  have  no  fears.  The  Ameri 
cans,  I  am  sure,  will  not  turn  their  backs  on  me.' 

'  Well  and  good/  I  said,  fully  reassured.  '  If  you  defy  even 
tualities,  and  put  your  trust  in  me,  I  will  struggle  hard  to 
justify  it.' 

After  gossiping  for  a  time,  I  rose. 

'  Are  you  packed  up  ?'  I  inquired. 


London  Revisited.  589 


'  Not  quite  ;  but  Katy  is  hard  at  work.' 

'  Mrs.  Grote,  no  doubt,  will  bring  you  to  the  station,  and  my 
escort  will  hardly  be  required.' 

'  No,'  she  answered  ;  '  all  is  arranged.  Dear  Mrs.  Grote,  she 
is  in  downright  affliction,  and  I  am  dreadfully  depressed  at 
losing  her.' 

I  dined  that  night  with  the  Mansfields,  and  it  was  near  eleven 
o'clock  before  I  reached  Gore  House.  The  rooms  were  crowded 
with  nobility,  and  I  had  little  opportunity  of  chatting  with  the 
presiding  genius,  whom  I  had  seen  a  short  time  previously. 
Prince  Louis  Napoleon  was  there,  and  he  talked  with  me  for 
some  time.  There  was  a  strange  magnetism  about  him  that 
affected  all  who  came  within  its  spell.  He  parted  with  me  most 
kindly,  and  said, '  On  your  return  you  must  come  and  see  me.' 
Thanking  him,  I  promised  to  do  so.  It  was  a  mournful  place, 
indeed,  where  I  found  him  at  our  next  meeting.  Count  D'Orsay 
came  up  to  me  before  I  left,  with  a  stout  jolly  young  fellow  on  his 
arm.  '  C/ierWikoff,'  he  proposed/ 1  wish  you  to  make  the  acquaint 
ance  of  the  Hon.  Paul  Methuen,*  a  favourite  of  mine.  He  is  going 
in  your  steamer  on  Wednesday  to  New  York  to  join  his  regiment 
in  Canada.  I  commit  him  to  your  care  and  kind  offices/  I 
assured  the  Count  I  would  bestow  the  utmost  attention  on  his 
good  friend.  I  gazed  repeatedly  on  that  gem  of  loveliness, 
Marguerite  Power,  whom  I  had  met  six  months  previously  at 
St.  Leonards.  Her  beauty  had  matured,  and  she  was  one  of  the 
sirens  of  London.  Already  I  perceived  the  change  I  had  con 
templated.  The  guileless  manner  of  the  unsophisticated  girl  had 
vanished,  and  in  its  place  had  succeeded  the  easy  self-possession 
and  smiling  callousness  that  constitute  the  usual  armour  of  a 
woman  of  the  world. 

I  congratulated  myself  on  my  way  home  that  if  I  could  not 
escape  new  accessions  to  my  list  Q{  proteges,  at  least  the  sex 
was  changed.  I  even  speculated  on  the  probability  that  I  might 
utilise  the  Count's  cheery  friend,  by  assigning  to  him  the  pleasant 
duty  of  looking  after  Mrs.  Price,  that  might  be  equally  agreeable 
to  both  parties,  and  relieve  my  burden. 

I  shared  the  hospitality  of  the  Dunlops  on  my  last  night  in 
London.  When  the  ladies  had  retired,  I  revealed  to  my  worthy 
friend  my  overladened  condition  in  going  to  America ;  having 
not  only  three  ladies  on  my  shoulders,  but  one  a  bewitch- 

*  Afterwards  Lord  Methuen. 


59°  London  Revisited. 


ing  widow,  another  a  fascinating  Countess,  and  a  third  the  for 
midable  Fanny  Elssler.  He  was  thunderstruck,  but  somewhat 
amused.  He  launched  forthwith  into  sundry  grave  warnings,  to 
which  I  listened  respectfully ;  and  his  final  words  on  mounting 
the  drawing-room  stairs  were,  *  Beware  ;  the  pitcher  that  goes  too 
often  to  the  well — you  know  the  adage.'  Miss  Gamble  insisted 
on  my  staying  longer  in  London  when  I  came  back.  Alas,  we 
did  not  meet  again  for  eleven  years,  and  then  it  would  have  been 
better  for  both  if  we  had  not  met  at  all ! 

I  found  Fanny,  Katy,  and  servants  at  the  station,  under 
convoy  of  Mrs.  Grote,  when  I  arrived.  Mrs.  Price  too  was  there,, 
and  Methuen.  I  introduced  them  off-hand,  and  desired  them 
to  take  care  of  each  other,  which  seemed  to  suit  them  exactly. 
Both  were  young,  handsome,  and  merry.  Mrs.  Grote  was  in  a 
doleful  state,  and  I  was  glad  we  had  little  time  for  parting.  I 
accompanied  her  back  to  her  carriage,  *  like  Niobe,  all  tears,'  and 
promised  to  write  the  same  night  from  Bristol.  She  sobbed  out 
that  I  should  have  a  letter  from  her  in  the  morning.  It  came. 
Here  it  is : 

London,  April  14. 

Dear  Mr.  Wikoff, — I  am  perfectly  stranded  in  mind,  and  feel  as  if  all 
was  dead  around  me,  and  as  if  the  sun  was  put  out.  I  never  felt  so  cruelly 
any  separation  from  a  person  not  of  my  near  kindred.  I  put  a  strong 
force  upon  myself  yester-night,  and  also  to-day,  knowing  by  sad  experi 
ence  that  when  once  my  grief  runs  over  it  is  all  over  with  me  :  headache 
ensues,  and  to  bed  I  go.  But  I  shall  be  some  days  getting  my  mind 
afloat  again,  for  the  idea  of  Fanny  has  full  possession  of  it,  and  my  heart 
has  gone  with  her.  How  delightful  to  think  I  contributed  to  her  happy 
residence  here,  and  to  know  she  fully  recognises  it !  She  is  a  precious 
gem — tend  her  as  one.  I  know  you  will.  I  wish  you  a  happy  issue  out 
of  what  I  will  not  term  your  troubles — let  me  rather  call  them  trials, 
wherein  the  strong  soul  is  tested.  Be  but  firm  in  your  own  se/f-ap- 
proval,  and  I  never  can  believe  you  will  lose  that  of  others — at  least, 
not  of  the  portion  of  mankind  you  and  I  value.  Go  and  prosper,  and 
may  we  all  meet  again  sound  and  undimmed  1  My  trusting  and  cordial 
valediction  upon  you.  Every  sort  of  love  and  sorrow  to  Fanny.  Adieu. 
—Your  faithful,  affectionate  friend, 

H.  GROTE. 

Dear  Mrs.  Grote  !  she  knew  how  I  wriggled  and  shivered  at 
the  dubious  position  into  which  I  was  sliding  ;  but  she  always 
encouraged  me  to  '  stand  to  my  guns.' 

We  embarked  on  a  lovely  morning,  April  1 5th.     I  found  the 


London  Revisited.  591 


Countess  Merlin  on  board,  surrounded  by  cavaliers,  who  were  in 
turn  kissing  her  hand  at  parting.  As  I  approached  she  said,  in 
her  buoyant  manner, 

'  Maintenant^je  me  fie  d  vous* — Now  I  confide  myself  to  you. 

I  presented  Fanny,  and  the  Countess  lavished  many  graceful 
compliments  upon  her. 

A  chill  shot  through  me  with  the  first  turn  of  the  wheels,  as 
our  gallant  craft  moved  off.  I  felt  I  was  taking  a  leap  in  the 
dark,  and  if  I  had  known  the  precise  habitation  of  my  guardian 
angel,  I  would  have  sent  thither  a  strong  appeal  to  guide  my 
faltering  steps. 


This  Volume  has  swelled  to  an  inordinate  length,  and  I 
hasten  to  close  it  lest  the  patience  of  my  readers  should  be 
utterly  exhausted. 

If  its  success  should  be  at  all  commensurate  with  my  hopes, 
I  will  not  hesitate  to  continue  my  story,  taking  care,  however, 
to  compress  my  materials  to  more  reasonable  proportions,  which 
will  add  to  their  attraction  without  diminishing  their  interest. 


INDEX  OF  PERSONS. 


ALBERT,  CHARLES,  154,  155 
Alt,  Mehemet,  566 
Alibaud,  354 

Allen,  Andrew  'Jackson,  402 
Angelo,  Michael,  161 
Anne  of  Russia,  209 
Ay  Inter,  Countess  of,  365 
Aylmer,  Earl  of  ,  23 

BAGIOLI,  ANTONIO,  34 

Baird,  Robert,  2 

Barbes,  494 

Barrotm  Odillon,  529,  £34 

Baring  Brothers,  360 

Bates,  Mr.  and  Mrs.,  564,  565 

Bates,  Elizabeth,  399 

Bates,  Joshua,  366 

Bates,  Mrs.,  367,  382,  398 

Beauclerc,  Frederica,  366 

Beaumont,  Git  stave  de,  548 

Belgioso,  Prince,  565 

Belmojit,  August,  544 

Bennett,     James    Gordon,    465,    473, 

486 

Bent  on,  Jessie,  31 
Benlon,  Thomas  H.,  29 
Berrycr,   117,  539 
Bernard,  494 
Bethune,  George,  Rev.,  3 
Biddle,  Nicholas,  62,  67,  68,  449 
Blanqui,  494 
Blight,  Charles,  58 
£lsssing1on,  Countess  of,  431, 439,  475, 

510,589 

Blood,  Dr.,  374 

Bonaparte,  Joseph   382,  302,  396,  583 
Borgo,  Count  Pozzo  di,  1 26 
Brisbane,  George,  21 
Brown,  Mrs.,  271 
Brougham,  Lord,  439,  578 
Brunswick,  Duke  of,  370 
Buckingham,  J.  Silk,  444,  468 
Buhi'cr,  Hcnrv,  534 


Bulwer,  Lady  Lytton,  519,  523,   524, 

525,  526,  527   528,531,  553,  569 
Bulwer,  Sir  Edward  Lytton,  5*34 
Burd,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  E. 
Butler,  Pierce,  38 
|  Byron,  Lord,  479 

i  CADWALADER,  GENERAL,  449 
|  Calhoim,  John  C.,  28,  29,  38,  470 
|  Camac,  William,  5 
j  Catharine  I.  of  Russia,  209 
!  Catharine  II.  of  Russia,  209 
|  Carrell,  Armand,  348 
Om,  G"<?;2.  Lewis,  392,  487,  492,  493, 

544,  564 

Chandler,  J.  R.,  8 
Charles  X.,  180,  393 
Charles  XII.,  220 
Chapman,  Dr.,  449 
Chesterfield,  Earl  of  ,  187,  586 
Chouteau,  Mr.,  73 
Cilley,  Jonathan,  467 
C/tfr£,  Zte  £F//7  Clinton,  22 
Clarke,  Mrs.  Dr.,  134 
Gfoy,  Henry,  29,  39,  65,  470 
Clementine,  Princess,   121 
Columbus,  157 
Conroy,  Sir  John,  404 
Corbin,  Francis  P.,  463,  489,  522,  64^ 
Coster,   Washington,  42 

"   V         J/r*.,  58,  78 
Cousin,  Victor,  548 
CUr^,  Alfred,  32 
Crockett,  Davy,  60 
j  Croly,  Rev.  George,  410 

DAGUERRE,  517 


Davcsac,  421 
Ztey,   Jeremiah,  19 
Depau,  42 

De  Forest,  Julia,  18 
-  J/™.,  1  8,  59 


594 


Index  of  Persons. 


De  Forest,  Pastor  a,  18 

Dejazet,  Mile.,  1 1 1 

Dent  son,  S.  B.,  94 

Disraeli,  Benjamin,  412 

Douro,  Marquis  of,  187 

Duane,  W.  J.,  63 

Du  Barry,  Madame,  179 

Dumas,  Alexander,  1 1 1 

Dunlop,  James,  186,  567,  576,  589 

—    Mrs.,  1 86,  187,  196 
Dunn,  Nathan,  60 
Durham,  Earl  of,  259 
Duprez,  169 

EATON,  GENERAL,  28 
Mrs.,  28 


Edward  III.,  189 

Elliott,  Lady  Fanny,  168 

Elssler,  Fanny,  109,  no,  499,  500,  506 

514,  537,  549,  551,  553,  559,  563,  573,  |  Hugo,  Victor,  113 

575-  577,  586,  587,  59i 
Elizabeth,  Empress,  209 
Englishman,  A  Distinguished,  224 
Erasmus,  421 
Ester  hazy,  Prince  Paul,  417 


Grote,  George,  539,  573,  574 

Mrs.    Harriet,    537,    538,    544, 

554,559-561,  567,  571,  575,  58o,  590 

Grotius,  421 

Guiccioli,  Countess,  425,  430,  433,  478, 

569 
Guizot,  M.,    102,    131,    136,  493,  545, 

560 

HAIGHT,  R.  K.,  97 

Mrs.,  97 

Hamilton,  Governor,  44 
Hayne,  29 

Hill,  Isaac,  62 

Mr.,  210 

Holland,  Lady,  406 

Lord,  406 

Hook,  Theodore,  373 
Hughes,  Christopher,  26 


FALCON,  MLLE.,  109,  no 

Fay,  Theodore  S.,  372 

Ferdinand  /.,  319 

Ferdinand  II.,  171 

Fieschi,  332 

Fonblanque,  Albany,  437 

Forrest,  Edwin,  75,  133,  134,  152,  164, 
195,  198,  203,  211,  212,  214,  230,  241, 
253,  258,  315,  318,328,330,370,376, 
400,  410,  417,  424,  448 

Forsyth,  Mr.,  45 

Fowler,  Mr.,  458 

Frederick  the  Great  326 

Fulton,  Miss,  58 

GALITZIN,  PRINCESS,  240,  242 

Galera,  M.,  239 

Galileo,  1 59 

Gamble,  Miss,  186,  196,  371,  429,  509, 

589 

Gentz,  Baron,  502 
George,  Mile.,  113,  114,  115,116 
Gibbes,  Morgan,  552,  554,  564 
Gilpin,  Henry  D.,  60,  468 
Girardin,  Emil  de,  348 
Gladstone,   William  E.,  41 5 
Goodell,  Mr.,  274 
Goodrich,  Miss,  18 

7V<?/.,  1 8 

Graves,  J.,  467 
Gregory  XVI.,  163 


INGERSOLL,  CHARLES,  448,  451,  452 

-  C.  7,448,449 
j.  C.,  449 


Joseph  R.,  24,  449,  451 

JACKSON,  ANDREW,  26,  30,  53,  60 
~'anin,  Jules,  490 
'efferson,  Joseph,  8 
'ohnson,  Captain,  301,  305 
f  W.  Hemphill,  24 
.,  467 


Joseph,  219,  228,  235 

KEMBLE,  CHARLES,  36 
Fanny,  36 


Kendall,  Amos,  64 
Kent,  Duchess  of,  408 
,  Lorenzo,  1  7 


LAFAYETTE,  179 

Lafitte,  M.,  102 

Laporte,  M.,  544 

Lardner,  Dr.  Dionysius,  425,  429,  437 

Lavalette.  Marquis  ^,498,  514 

Ledru,  Charles,  522,  526,  528,  530,  535 

Lenormand,  Mile.,  351 

Lewis,  Gen.  Morgan,  78 

leanor  Parke  Custis,  32      Mrs.  jr.,  32 


Ligier,M.t  no 
Livingston,  Edward,  100 

Maturne,  42 

Mortimer,  42 

3/r.y.,  42,  78 

Robert  L.,  101 


Lobau,  Marshal,  123,  124,  125 


Index  of  Persons. 


595 


MADDEN,  MR.,  440 

Maillard,  M.,  383,  582,  585 

Malibran,  175 

Mansfield,  Mr.,  26,  309,  384,  589 

Marismas,  Marchioness  de  las,  552 

.Marie  Amelie,  Queen  of  France,  105, 

131 

Marie,  Princess,  105,  121 

Markoe,  Miss.,  5 

Mars,  Mile.,  no 

Mason,  Mr.,  62 

McDuffie,  Mr.,  63 

Me  Henry,  James,  7 

McKenzie,  Mr.,  372 

McMichael,  Morton,  453 

Mayor,  the  Lord,  430 

Melbourne,  Lord,  356,  408,  409 

Methuen,  Hon.  Paul,  589,  590 

Merlin,  Countess,  584,  585,  591 

Meyerbeer,  108 

Milnes,  Richard  Monckton,  586 

.Mole,  Count,  491,  493 

Molesworth,  Sir  William,  573,  575 

Moore,  Mr.,  316 

Moreau,  Gen.,  325 

M  or  tier,  Marshal,  332 

j,  332,  335 

,  Z>r.,  353 

Louisa,  492 

Munster,  Earl  0f,  $*9 

NAPOLEON,  EMPEROR,  394 

—   Prince  Louis,  393,  584,  585,  589 
Narishkine,  Madame,  240 
Noah,  M.  M.,  64 
Norton,  Mrs.,  197 
7VW/,  />.,  20 
.Nourrit,  M.,  108,  109,  no 

OFFLEY,  J/r.,  295,  298,  586,  5-89 
Orleans,  Duke  of ,  105,  121,  125 
Or  say,  Count  d',  187,  435,  512 
Ouvrard,  M.,  114,  121 

PALMERSTON,  LORD,  356,  408,  566 

Paul  I.  of  Russia,    205 

Peter  the  Great,  204 

Pepin,  332,  334 

Phalen,  James,  18 

Philippe,  Louis,  102, 104,  121,  231,  424, 

476,  495,  558,  560 
Planche,  M.,  441 
Placide,  Henry,  13,  579,  581,  586 
Pompadour,  Afar  guise  de,  178 
Porter,  Commodore,  271,  272,  282 

Mr.,  273,  291 

Power,  Marguerite,  573,  589 


Power,  Tyrone,  69 
Power  scour  t,  Lady,  418 

Viscount,  58 

Presle,  M.,  394 

Preston,  29 

Price,  Stephen,  372,  497,  509,  540 

Mrs.,  575,  581,  587,  590 

RACHEL,  MLLE.,  490 
Ramsey,  Captain,  U.  S.  A.,  339 
Ralli,  Mr.,  234,  253 
Madame,  256 


Reichstadt,  Duke  of,  319,  321 
Renshaw,  Commodore,  11 
./?/£•<?,  Dan,  399 
Richelieu,  Duke  of,  232 
Ridgeway,  John,  462 

.?.,  462 


Rhodes  Mr.,  284,  286 
Rickets,  Major,  5 
Roberts,  Captain,  475 
Robertson,  Gilbert,  76 
Rogers,  Miss,  371 
-  Samuel,  371 
Rothschild,  Baron  James,  544 
Meyer,  328 


Roosevelt,  Mrs.,  31 
Rubens,  423 
Rush,  Benjamin,  372 
-  Dr.,  449 

Richard,  367,  449 

SABLOUKOFF,  GEN.,  254 
Sampson,  M.  B.,  455 
Saxe  Weimar,  Duke  of,^j 
Saxony,  King  of,  326 
Scott,  Mrs.  General,  516 

Virginia,  492 

Shelley,  Mrs.,  437 
Simpson,  E.,  550,  579 
Silliman.  Professor,  17 
Sinclair,  the  Tenor,  196 

Kate,  196,  378,  401,  429 

Mrs.,  401 

Slide II,  Mr.,  372 
Smith,  Albert,  17 

Horace,  373 

>>  373 

.  Samuel,  25 
Sydney,  128 

',  Marshal,  123,  124,  560 
Son  tag.  General,  233,  257,  261 

Madame,  235 

Stephens,  Lyne,  109 
Stevenson,  Andrew,  355 

Mrs.,  355 

Stockton,  Robert,  n 


596 


Index  of  Persons. 


St.  Albans,  Dtichess  of  ',187 
Stuart,  Lord  Dudley,  383 
Sumner,  Charles,  573 
SuTuilliers,  Count  de,  382 

TALLEYRAND,  PRINCE,  122,  476 
Taglioni,  Mile.,  109,  507 
Talbot,  Hon.  George, 
Tallmadge,  General, 
--  Miss,  339 
Talma,  no 
Taney,  Roger  B.,  63 
Tenters,  423 
Thanet,  Lord,  96 
Thibaud,  M.,  383,  396 


Thiers,  M.,  101,  126,  127,  135,  493,  560, 

566 
Thorn,  Col,  338,  339,  564 

-  ^/irj.,  339 

-  J/r.^  'Jamie  ey,  564 
Thorndikc,  A.,  489,  564 

-  Rebecca,  492 
Tisserand,  M.,  495 
Tocqueville,  Count  de,  548,  570 
Torrigiani,  Marquis,  174 

VAIL,  AARON,  192 
Frtitf  Biiren,  John,  14 

Martin,  28,  30,  38,  58,  76,  453, 
469 

YV£,  423 

Weyer,  M.,  398 
,  General,  31 


< 

r,  Richard,  57,  68,  417 
-  Robert,  55,  6$,  66 
--  J/r.y.,  57 
Victoria,  Princess,  407,  409 


WADSWORTH,  JAMES,  126 


126 


Wain,  Edward,  15,  24 
J^M,  J?0A?r/,  8 
Ward,  Samuel,  325 
Warren,  W.,  8 
M^W,  7.   Watson,  64 
Webster,  Daniel,  29,  470 

5/r  Henry,  579 

?,  Samuel,  98,  467,  487,  543 
, 489,  542,  552, 


Wellesley,  Marchioness  of,  368 

Wellington,  Duke  of,  356,  304,  408 

Wether  ill,  S.  P.,  11,  20,  23,  566 

Wiggins,  J.,  98 

Wilkins,  William,  205,  210,  212 

William  IV.,  357,408 

Williams,  Alpheus  S.,  44,  73,  77,  81,. 

133,  152,  191,  194 
Willing,  Tom,  463 

yi/r^.,  463 

^.  P.,  15 

,  Henry  A.,  467 
,J^W   William,  8 
Womfrwall,  Sir  George,  586 
Woronzow,  Prince,  237,  239,  242,  244, 

254,  261 

Princess,  239 

Worthington,  17 


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NOV  3  1  1980  i 

4  APR  171991 

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9v  MAY  <J  I)  I99U 

JAN281985 

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APR  2  3  m' 

M/IP  O  c  *>nno 

Santo  Cruz  Jttm* 

wirtrt  z  5  2002 

rec'd  drc.  APR  2 

1984 

f^fn   A   £  inftr* 

APR  3,0  05 

w     SEP  2  6  2006 

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1 

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